


Knight and Squire 2: Blood Oath

by purple_bookcover



Series: Knight and Squire [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, ashelix - Freeform, background annette/petra, background claurenz, background doropetra, background hildamari, post-cannon, unrequitted sylvix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 13:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 59,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21198629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: * This is primarily and mostly an Ashelix fic. Other ships are tagged because they ARE relevant to the plot. *Ashe and Felix are loose in Fodlan. But Andres isn't the only one trying to hunt them down...Knight and Squire 1Knight and Squire 3





	1. Battle Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bandits roam freely in Fodlan in the aftermath of the war. But so do Ashe and Felix...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the sequel to [Knight and Squire 1: Leather and Iron](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20711285/chapters/49199699). If you have not read that, a lot of this is going to be confusing as fuck. 
> 
> SPOILERS: This story happens after the events of the game (for any route). I am trying to stay true to the cannon, but I frequently had to take my best guess based on scraps of lore that often conflict depending on which storyline you play. There will be references to the events of the game.

Blue Sea Moon bathed the village in silver light, but still Willis worked. 

He knew how his subordinates muttered about his "obsessive" diligence. Willis preferred to think of it as cunning, his greatest advantage in the booming post-war bandit economy. He was far from the only man counting stolen coins that night, but he was, perhaps, the most sober one. Not a drop of pilfered wine would touch his tongue until every villager and cow and field mouse was accounted for. 

It was therefore a terrible inconvenience when his lieutenant (Willis had a propensity for military language; kept the boys in line, he thought) barged into his office. 

"By the goddess's holy tit, Gaitz, you better have an excellent reason for disturbing my accounting," Willis snarled. 

Gaitz gaped at him, his eyes wide and mouth slack. His face twisted. Then he collapsed. 

Willis jerked up out of his chair, knife in hand. But the man who stepped into the room and over the body of his lieutenant looked like he couldn't so much as squash a spider. He was a slight man dressed plainly in a cloak and tunic and trousers. When he pushed back his hood, neatly trimmed silver hair caught the light of the Blue Sea Moon. The man sat down across from Willis and smiled at him, freckles splashed across his cheeks. 

"He'll be OK," the man said, nodding at the fallen lieutenant. "May wake up with a nasty headache though. Give him my apologies, if you would."

"Who the fuck are you?" Willis said.

"Please, sit." The man waved a gloved hand.

And for reasons Willis would never quite parse, he did sit, setting his knife aside. Perhaps it was the man's innocent green eyes. Perhaps it was the stupid smile on his boyish face. Perhaps it was simple curiosity.

"So," the man said, "it looks like you have quite the operation here." 

"Excuse me?" Willis said.

The man waved broadly. "This village. It used to have a mayor, no? And a healer. They were building a water wheel last time I visited. But now," and the man cocked his head like a curious bird, "now they have you." 

Willis narrowed his eyes. "That's right." 

"Well, you see, that's interesting because I do not think they invited you." 

Willis barked a laugh. "What?" 

"You weren't invited. You just showed up and decided this place was yours. Put your men in place. Bullied some folks around. Started collecting 'taxes.' Have I got it right?" The man spoke as though listing the ingredients of a stew, as though none of this was particularly interesting, even. 

"Y—yes, I suppose you've got the way of it," Willis said. "What's it to you?" 

The man's smile broadened, yet there was genuine warmth behind it. "Well, it's just that I think the folks who live here would be awfully appreciative if they could have their village back." 

"W—what?"

"You don't agree?"

"I... no, I agree... I just..." Why was Willis even debating this? What had happened to his evening of tallying? And most of all _who in all the hells was this man?_

"Then I think you should give it back to them." 

Willis spluttered. It felt like the air had been sucked from his lungs. He shook his head, trying to collect himself. He stood again, retrieving the knife and stabbing it into the desk in a way he hoped looked threatening. The man glanced at the knife, but otherwise did not react. 

"Listen," Willis said, "I don't know who you are or why you think it's wise to march into _my_ village, but you'll be leaving now. I will give you this one last chance to walk away before every one of my men is barging through that door for a chance to slit your pretty throat." 

The man put a hand over his mouth, but Willis could see him laugh behind it. _Laugh._

Willis reached across the table, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt and yanking him to his feet. He pressed the knife against the man's throat. 

"Oh, I wouldn't do that," the man said. His quiet voice sent a shiver down Willis's spine.

"Yeah, why's that?" Willis growled. Tried to growl. 

Willis did not see movement. He did not hear footsteps. Before he sensed anything at all, his wrist was twisting. He had to release the knife, but even as he did someone wrenched his arm behind his back, pinning it in a painful position that promised broken bones with even an ounce more pressure.

The silver-haired man before him straightened his rumpled tunic while the specter behind Willis held him in place. 

"I want to believe you have some reason for this," Silver Hair said. "I want to think you wouldn't do this if you didn't need to, that if the world was more just, more free, more fair, no one would steal from anyone else, no one would hurt another person. That's what I want to believe." The man sighed. "But my partner, he's not quite as patient as I am. He doesn't have my faith in humanity, you could say." 

Willis felt the grip on his arm tighten ever so slightly and he quivered. Whoever was behind him could break him with a thought. He loomed like a shadow at his back, like death itself come to greet him in human form. 

Willis replaced the fear with anger. With righteous indignation. Who was this whelp to march in and threaten him and--

As though hearing his thoughts, the grim death at his back tightened his hold. Willis struggled not to yelp. 

"So," Silver Hair said. "I trust you'll be leaving soon. I do wish you a safe journey."

"Like hell I--"

He heard the snap before he felt the bone break. The world turned bright with pain, bright with the agony shooting through his body. The hold at his back relented and Willis collapsed to the floor, screaming, sweat and tears pouring down his face. 

A man stepped over him and Willis glimpsed doom itself. From the shadows of the man's cloak, amber eyes glared down. 

The silver-haired man was pouting. "I thought I was really getting somewhere with this one," he said. "I think he was just about to come around. Why'd you have to go and do that?" 

"It's dull," Death said. And indeed, he seemed to have forgotten Willis entirely already. He regarded the other man and a strange, almost eerie softness touched the hard planes of his grim face. "Did he harm you?"

"No, I'm fine. I suppose it's time to go though. I think the villagers have this in hand now. The others are all tied up or driven off, yes?"

Death nodded. "Annette took care of it." 

Death left first, his cloak like a billow of smoke around him. The other man offered Willis a sympathetic smile. It sent shivers through Willis, even as he writhed in pain on the floor of his office. Then, they were gone.

#

Felix Hugo Fraldarius was a ghost. Or, at least, he may as well have been a ghost.

Andres crumpled the paper on his desk and threw it at a stack of similar wads. Another vague report. Another dead lead. A swordsman here, or a village suddenly rid of bandits there, but nothing solid. And never any sign of the renegade duke when Andres sent people to investigate. Villagers spoke often of a silver-haired man, but only rarely of one that could have been Felix. 

"Where?" Andres said. "Where? Where?" 

He sent a chair skittering across the floor, breathing hard with frustration. "Where?" he screamed at the walls of the fortress in Fraldarius. 

"Um... sir?" a timid voice said. 

Andres forced a calming breath and faced the woman at the door to his study. She swallowed at the look on his face, fidgeting with the scroll in her hands. 

"What, Bilta?" Andres said.

"I brought the report, sir, as you requested," she said. She hardly looked like she belonged in Fraldarius with her slight build and fragile appearance, but she'd quickly become one of Andres' most trusted confidants when it came to the problem of Felix. 

"Yes, I'm sorry. Please." He held out a hand and she stepped cautiously into the room, handing him the scroll. She lingered after he took the paper, squirming. "I'll read it in full later," he promised. 

Still, she loitered. 

"Is there something you want to report directly, Bilta?" 

"Actually..." She looked up and her brown eyes were bright. Andres' anger cooled instantly. He'd learned to trust this look from her.

"So," she said, "I was tinkering with the mixture and it is a bit complicated. Blood isn't exactly the simplest material to work with. Lots of extra factors in play, you know. But we are getting closer to isolating the specific trigger and--"

"Please," Andres interrupted, "in simple terms." 

She let out a breath. "It's almost ready." She beamed up at the older man. 

"Meaning?"

"Meaning," and her grin broadened, "that we've run a couple tentative tests and while it hasn't worked exactly the way we envisioned, it _did_ work, partly. A little. I mean, it's getting there. If you know what I mean?"

Andres absolutely did not know what she meant, but it was always this way with Bilta and her assistants. The price of employing the finest, and least ethical, minds he could find, he supposed. Andres had learned there was only one sure way to get her back on track when she started prattling on this way. 

"What do you need?" he interrupted. 

Bilta bit her lip. Her grin turned absolutely delirious. "Mages," she said. "The best mages you can buy." 

Andres' stomach churned, but he nodded. "Then you will have them."

#

"Did you have to break it?" Ashe asked as he stirred the stew warming over the fire.

Felix did not look up from the sword he cleaned as he shrugged. After another moment, Ashe got a soft "sorry" from across the fire. 

Annette carried a bucket of water into their makeshift camp. She set it on the ground near Ashe and settled beside him on the blanket where he sat. 

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

Ashe shook his head, trying not to sigh. "Are you hurt" had almost become a mantra with her. She asked him every morning, every evening, every time he winced at a loud noise or stumbled over a stone. He knew the fact that her white magic could do nothing for his mind bothered her. She healed his and Felix's bruises and scrapes and cuts frequently. But there was no magic that could soothe nightmares of cages, no spell that could stop Ashe's heart racing every time he heard shouting or loud voices. 

"Rabbit stew again?" Annette said. 

"Yeah," Ashe said. "We don't have much else." 

"I'm sure it'll be great," Annette said. 

"We need supplies," Felix grumbled. 

"We'll have to go to a town or village soon," Ashe said. He could see Felix scowling down at the sword. Ever since they'd fled the assassin from Fraldarius a couple months ago, they'd stayed as far as possible from villages and towns, but they couldn't avoid them forever. It always made Felix nervous, and a nervous Felix was a prickly Felix, in Ashe's experience. 

"Let's eat," Ashe said. "We did something good today. We should get to relax for a night." 

Annette leapt up to fetch their bowls and spoons and Ashe dished out the stew. Hard as he tried, lightening the mood was easier said than done. Felix hunkered in his own head, speaking little; meanwhile, Annette jumped at any little sign of negativity in Ashe. 

After the meal, Ashe allowed himself a sigh as he cleaned up their bowls in a trickle of stream. He loved both his companions, wouldn't want to be out here living on the run with anyone else in the world. But, goddess, they could both be frustrating at times. 

Ashe startled when he heard someone approaching. He whirled, but it was only Annette, carrying the pot he'd cooked with.

"Sorry," she said. She crouched beside him at the stream. "Are you—Sorry." 

"There's no need to apologize," Ashe said, trying to sound light. 

"I know," Annette said. "I just wish I could make it better somehow. I've studied every book I've come across, thought back on every bit of magic I ever learned. But..."

"It'll heal," Ashe said. "With time. Not magic." 

"Will it?"

Ashe offered her a smile. "Yes. I have you and Felix with me. I'm going to be OK." 

Annette tried to smile in return, but it was as fleeting as sunlight peeking between clouds. "We can't run forever."

"But we're OK for now," Ashe said. "Come on. We helped that village today. We can rest for one night."

This time her smile was warmer. Their conversation turned light as they made their way back to the camp, stacking up the dishes to dry out in the air overnight. Felix was kicking dirt over the fire and smothering the coals. 

The trio went through the routine of setting out bedrolls and blankets, a routine now intimately familiar. Annette settled down on one side of the extinguished fire, rolling up in her blankets and putting her back to Ashe and Felix. They'd never asked her to, she'd just silently started doing it once they'd all been on the run together. 

Even so, once her breathing deepened, Felix sat up. "Will you come with me?" he whispered.

Ashe nodded. Felix led him away from the camp, placed in a small clearing between trees. They stepped as quietly as they could through the dark forest. The tangled branches overhead strangled the moonlight, leaving them in near total darkness.

Felix did not go far. They were still within sight of the camp where Annette slept soundly. He turned to face Ashe, taking one of his hands. 

"I'm sorry," Felix said. "The bandit. His arm. I didn't need to break it. But I did."

"I understand," Ashe said. Frankly, he'd witnessed plenty worse. They'd only run in the first place after Felix had stabbed the assassin from Fraldarius and left them dying on the floor of an inn room. 

"I know," Felix said, "but is this going to be OK? I don't mean to harm you, but my life will not be free of violence. Not now. Possibly not ever." 

Ashe swallowed. There'd been something of a silent truce between them since the moment at the inn. Hearing Felix state the issue so bluntly was... well, it was Felix, but it was still difficult to hear. 

"I trained at the officers academy too," Ashe said. 

"Officers," Felix said. "Not prisoners."

That one stabbed Ashe right in the gut. He had to look down at his feet. He heard a crunch of twigs and leaves when Felix stepped closer, using a finger to tilt his chin up.

Even in the dark, Ashe could see the conflict twisting Felix's normally placid face. "I don't know how to help you," Felix said. "I fear I'm making it worse. I fear I'm... little different from the people who hurt you."

"That isn't true," Ashe said. He shuddered as a memory swelled up. "You're nothing like them. Trust me."

Felix's thumb stroked Ashe's jaw. "I hope so." 

"I know you and Annette are trying," Ashe said. "And I'm grateful. But there are some things neither of you can fix."

"I can't accept that," Felix said. "I was supposed to save you."

"You did save me," Ashe said. Even standing in the dark of the forest, he felt again that rush of warmth and safety, that moment of utter surrender when Felix had kicked down the door to his final prison and scooped Ashe off his feet to carry him to freedom. "Do you know what I do when I have a nightmare and can't sleep?"

Felix shook his head.

"I think about the moment you burst through that door," Ashe said. "I remember what it felt like to see you again after a year of being a prisoner. I remember..." Ashe felt warmth rise up his neck, but pressed on. "I remember how you kissed me. And I feel safe again. Because you're still here now."

What little light pierced the canopy overhead showed the strange conflict playing out on Felix's face. Ashe saw joy, pain, relief, shame, desire—all appearing at once and fighting Felix's attempts to shove them down. 

Ashe saw them all, saw more clearly that he thought others might. They believed Felix cold and remote; they did not realize how hot he burned within, silently, stoically. But Ashe saw and he embraced it all. He leaned in to that warmth, tasted it on Felix's lips when he pressed their mouths together in the gloom. 

Felix's hand moved from Ashe's jaw to his hair. Ashe smelled leather and iron all around him, a smell that had become warmer than any fire for him, a beacon home in their long days of wandering and running. Annette had given them as much privacy as she could, but it probably wouldn't have stopped them even if she hadn't. Alone, free, far from Faerghus, there was nothing left to force them apart.

Indeed, Ashe pushed closer, pushed until Felix's back was against a tree and their bodies were leaning against each other. His hands roamed, finding the edge of Felix's shirt and slipping beneath it. Felix made a soft noise in his mouth as Ashe felt bare skin under his fingertips. 

Felix pushed them apart, throwing aside his shirt. He grasped Ashe by the biceps to turn him and place him against the tree. Ashe's breathing turned heavy as Felix pounced, his mouth and tongue at Ashe's neck. Ashe felt the familiar quiver take hold and melted into it. He almost always had bruises now, sweet purple bruises at the side of his neck. He was sure he'd have one tomorrow too as Felix ran teeth and lips over his skin, then sucked hard, making Ashe whimper. 

Felix did not relent, but, rather, his hand snuck down Ashe's body. Even as he teased Ashe's neck, he undid the laces of his pants and got his hand down them. Ashe heard himself gasp as Felix grabbed him.

Felix paused, putting his other hand over Ashe's mouth. A wicked smile curled his mouth as he regarded the panting, blushing Ashe. The hand on Ashe's cock moved just a little, a slow, torturous stroke. Ashe opened his mouth wide in a silent cry. 

"Shh," Felix said, eye glinting like flames. "Wouldn't want to wake Annette." 

Ashe was taken by a sudden impulse. He found one of Felix's fingers and brought it into his mouth, sucking on the digit. Felix huffed, perhaps out of surprise, but in any case he didn't pull back, so Ashe kept playing at the finger in his mouth. 

Meanwhile, Felix worked him with ease and expertise. The hand on Ashe's cock had built up a steady rhythm, playing a tune Ashe now knew well but loved no less. Felix moved faster, one finger flicking out to skim over Ashe's balls and send a shiver all the way up his body. He opened his mouth to moan and Felix slipped a second finger in. 

Ashe sucked hungrily, using his tongue as well to lap at Felix's fingers. But he couldn't keep it up long, not with Felix pumping his cock so good and hard. The moan escaped this time as Ashe tilted his head back and arched against the tree, pushing his hips at Felix. 

Felix responded by using his free, slick hand to reach around Ashe and play at his rim. It was just a light pressure, but it promised so much more, and Ashe put his own hand in his mouth this time to stifle his cries. 

Felix moved it away. He pulled Ashe close and rasped into his ear, "I want to hear you." 

He stayed close, gripping Ashe by the hair. Their chests were pressed together as Felix kept Ashe near, stroking furiously. Ashe grasped Felix's shoulders, searching for something steady as a warm tide rose. 

"Fuck, fuck," Ashe breathed.

"Yes," Felix said. "Come on." 

Felix's grip tightened, a pulse on his cock. The tide rose, carrying Ashe up onto tip toes. A cry swelled out of his chest with it, a desperate prayer for release. Felix gave one more smooth pump and it all overflowed. Ashe arched, his feet threatening to slip out from under him as he clutched Felix's back, nails biting. 

Ashe was still breathing hard when Felix smothered him with a hungry kiss. Ashe's body felt hollow, scooped out. When they broke apart, Felix watched him with a rapturous hunger. 

Ashe slid down to his knees, his legs hardly working. For a moment, Felix seemed confused, then Ashe worked at his pants, getting his hard cock free. And finally his mouth found the thing it'd been searching for all night. 

Ashe moaned around Felix's cock as he took it in his mouth. He'd never really thought he could love having a cock in his mouth quite this much, but there was something about the tiny gasp he elicited, the way Felix reacted to every motion of his mouth and tongue, that had Ashe nearly begging to taste him. 

He put a hand at the base and started working his mouth up and down in a slow cycle. Felix sighed over him, putting a hand on the tree to steady himself. With his free hand, Ashe played with all the soft, secret places he'd learned on Felix's body. The hollow beside his hip. The curve between thigh and cock. The feather soft skin of his scrotum. 

That last made Felix shiver. Ashe teased it more, delicately, almost too lightly. Just hard enough to continue drawing out those soft curses Felix hissed above him. 

Felix grabbed his hair. Ashe took the signal, switching his focus to his mouth. He tightened his lips around Felix, running his mouth up and down faster, flicking his tongue out at the head. 

"Fuck," Felix hissed. "You're so good at that."

If Ashe could have smiled just then, he might have. As it was, he kept his mouth working hard. His free hand teased less playfully, pressing rather than tickling. 

"Close," Felix breathed. 

Ashe made a little moan of surrender, supplication almost. Felix cooperated, gasping another curse as he came into Ashe's mouth. 

Felix was still panting when he sat on the ground with Ashe. He kept lowering, laying all the way down until his head was in Ashe's lap. 

Ashe tensed for a moment. Then he smiled to himself and stroked Felix's bound hair. He could feel the sweat on Felix's back as he ran his hand over the bare skin. 

"Where's your shirt?" Ashe said.

"No idea," Felix said. 

Loathe as Ashe was to lose the warmth in his lap, he could feel Felix's skin getting cooler as the heat of their exertion passed. 

"Let's find it," Ashe said. "We can't stay out here all night."

"Can't we?" Felix said it so quietly Ashe almost didn't catch it. But he lifted himself off Ashe's lap. 

They searched for the shirt for a few minutes before giving up and returning to camp to huddle together, sharing warmth the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! I'm so excited. As ever, you can reach me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	2. Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri, now king of all of Fodlan, needs to come up with a way to quiet the rebellion in the south and maintain order in a restless Fraldarius lacking its rightful ruler. And that's where Sylvain comes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dimitri is NOT going to be portrayed very favorably from here on out. If that severely bothers you... sorry?

Dimitri's fists slammed onto the table top. The reverberations of the beat echoed against the cold stone walls of the strategy room. The table itself was plain, hardy wood, the chairs matching in their sparseness. No tapestries warmed the walls. No carpet cushioned his feet. The room was efficient, cold and gray. 

Dimitri shoved aside the report Dedue had neatly laid before him. The paper skittered across the table top. 

"What do they hope to gain?" Dimitri said. "What do they believe their little 'rebellion' will amount to?"

"Perhaps they think you too remote to hinder them," a deep rumble responded. Dedue stood behind him, his hands clasped behind his back. 

Dimitri looked to the shadows of the far wall, where Byleth merely shrugged.

Dimitri seethed, his hands curling into fists on the table top. "I will show them just how remote I am. They believe they can slaughter a kingdom soldier and build their foolish rebellion and I will sit back and do nothing?"

"They have underestimated you, my king," Dedue said.

"They will not make that mistake a second time," Dimitri said. "Dedue, send a battalion south. We will show them what happens to rebellions."

"An entire battalion for one village, my king?" 

Dimitri snapped around in his chair. His loyal aid watched him blankly, utterly unperturbed by Dimitri's rage. "Yes," Dimitri snapped. "Let there be no doubt." 

"Very well," Dedue said. He paced serenely from the room, bowing on his way out. 

Byleth held Dimitri's gaze for a moment, silent, impassive, as unreadable as Dedue. Then they, too, left.

Dimitri returned to scowling at the table, digging his nails into his palms. The rebellion in the south wasn't even the worst of his problems at the moment. Yes, some village had killed a kingdom soldier, but Dimitri had no doubt a sufficient show of force in response would set them back in their place. 

No, his biggest problem right now wasn't the south. It was Fraldarius. 

When the doors to the strategy room opened again, two men entered. One may have once been tall, but now stooped with age. The other slouched as well, but he did not have the burden of age weighing down his shoulders. 

Dimitri stood, waving his new guests to chairs. Andres sat to one side of him. Sylvain to the other. 

Dimitri remained standing, pressing his hands down on the table as he regarded the two men before him. "Well?" he said. 

Sylvain frowned down at the table, plucking at the fabric of his pants. It had been hard to get anything out of Sylvain ever since he'd returned to Gautier. Whatever had occurred in the south had turned Sylvain uncharacteristically taciturn. 

Dimitri sneered. After all these years, Sylvain was still just a foolish, lovesick little boy. Dimitri would have to break him of that.

He looked instead to Andres. The older man met his gaze with the dignity of long years of service to the kingdom and its lords. 

"Felix remains elusive," Andres said. "My king."

He was always a little late with the titles these days, Dimitri had noticed. Running Fraldarius in Felix's place was having an ugly effect on the man. Another habit that needed breaking. 

"How?" Dimitri said. "How is it that no one can find him? How is it that he can just disappear? He was never a subtle man, but here you both are, telling me again that he's simply vanished." 

"If Felix doesn't want to be found..." Sylvain muttered before realizing he'd spoken aloud and trailing off into silence. 

"You," Dimitri said, "were the last to see him, yes, Sylvain? How is it you have no idea where he went?"

Sylvain shrugged helplessly, still looking at the table instead of Dimitri. "He just ... left. I swear."

"He left you?" Dimitri said. He could see how picking at that particular wound made Sylvain flinch, so he dug in deeper. "He didn't even suggest where he was going? Just left you and vanished?"

Sylvain swallowed and nodded. 

Dimitri left him to fester in his obvious misery, glaring at Andres instead. "How fares Fraldarius?"

"Not well, my king," Andres said. "The people long for their rightful ruler. They've lived under the guidance of the Fraldarius crest and family for generations. There is unrest building and I fear myself and the council can not quiet it much longer. Some see us as usurpers, even though we are but humble servants merely trying to maintain order until we secure Felix's return." 

"Would a show of kingdom soldiers help?" Dimitri said.

Andres shook his head. "We are a land of warriors ourselves. The people are loyal to you, of course, my king, but they are not intimidated by you." 

_Perhaps they ought to be,_ Dimitri thought bitterly. He straightened, folding his arms across his chest and clenching his fists. 

"But," Andres said, timid, slow, "I ... may have encouraging news."

Dimitri raised an eyebrow and the older man rushed on.

"I believe we may soon have a way to … well, you could say we may be able to compel Felix to return," Andres said.

Dimitri's eyebrow arched higher. Sylvain looked up at last, his face going pale. Just what did Sylvain know that he was withholding? Why did this leverage seem to spark something in him? Dimitri would have to tease that out later. 

"Go on," Dimitri said. 

"I cannot say more just now," Andres said. "It is a thin hope, just the barest spark. But, I do believe it will get us what we want."

"Eventually?"

"Eventually," Andres conceded. 

Dimitri wanted to scream and rage that "eventually" wasn't good enough, not with the south rebelling and the shield of Fraldarius ready to shatter. Not when Dimitri had an entire world to rule and no help on any side. 

But he bit all this back. "How soon?" Dimitri said. "Can you hold out long enough?"

"I believe I can," Andres said. "But, my king, if you have mages you could spare..."

"Mages?"

"I … require their expertise," Andres said. "If you could but spare a few."

"And I suppose you'll tell me they must be my most highly skilled mages at that," Dimitri said.

Andres had the dignity to look ashamed, but he nodded.

"I will see what can be arranged," Dimitri said. "When do you return to Fraldarius?"

"As soon as possible, my king," Andres said.

"Very well." 

Dimitri dismissed them. Sylvain slouched out of the room, never looking at Dimitri as he went, head hanging. Dimtiri watched him go, already beginning to wonder what secrets he could tease out. Sylvain was never quiet, never ashamed or distant. Something had happened. Dimitri knew Sylvain and Ingrid had seen Felix just before he disappeared. That was the reason he'd summoned Sylvain in the first place. 

Now, having seen him, Dimitri was sure there was more to the sparse story Sylvain had provided. And Dimitri would have it. No matter how he had to drag it out.

#

Sylvain pulled dark hair. The man gasped. "Not so hard," he said. 

Sylvain relented reluctantly. It had never been too hard for Felix. But it was not Felix's hair clutched in his hand or Felix's hand on his cock or Felix's voice asking him to back down. So Sylvain eased off, trying to squash the swell of thoughts and emotions dragging him out of the moment. 

Too late. The man kneeling before him in his borrowed room in Fhirdiad stopped stroking. He looked up at Sylvain, concern in his blue eyes. Blue. Goddess, could the man just keep his head down so Sylvain only saw dark hair? Could he just let him pretend? Sylvain had every intention of doing whatever the man wanted or needed in recompense; but first, what Sylvain needed was for this fantasy to stop butting back into reality. 

"Is something wrong?" the man said. 

"No," Sylvain said. 

The man's gods damned blue eyes narrowed. He stood. "Why don't we try something else? How can I make you feel good?" 

He started running his hands over Sylvain's bare chest and shoulders. Soft, smooth hands that had never seen a callous in their life. He smiled at Sylvain—fucking _smiled_—and let down his long black hair with no protest or argument or even a "fuck off, Sylvain." 

Sylvain turned the man around. Now, all he saw was pale back—not nearly as muscled as Felix's, but it would do—and that long, dark hair. He kissed the man's neck, eliciting noises far too high-pitched. Sylvain's hand trailed down the curve of the man's back, then slipped even lower to run along his rim. The man gasped and shivered. A few slow circles had the man whimpering and whining. 

Sylvain guided him to the bed, where the man bent over, hands planted on the mattress. Sylvain made sure his fingers were good and slick before he got one inside the man, who cooed at the touch. 

"Oh, that's good," the man said as Sylvain got a second finger in.

"Don't talk," Sylvain said. It was too incongruous, too wrong, not just in tone but also the words this man said, the order he put them in, the way he lingered on certain vowels. It was all _not right_ and for just a gods damned minute Sylvain needed to not notice that. 

It wasn't the man's fault. Sylvain knew that. He was just some minor retainer or something that Sylvain had noticed across a room as soon as he arrived in Fhirdiad. He'd looked a bit more like Felix from across a meeting chamber and Sylvain quickly made his intentions obvious. It had taken little more than a smirk and a wink to get the man to follow him to Sylvain's temporary room in the castle. He didn't know he was just a tool, just another unlucky bastard in a string of unlucky bastards standing in for someone else. Sylvain sincerely hoped this man, whoever he was, would never know that he was just a proxy. He hoped he never had to pine hopelessly, never had to meet the person their lover loved better, never had to watch the one he craved ride away into the dark, so much happier without him. 

"Fuck me," the man gasped. And even though the voice was too high, the hair too dark, the eyes too light, the back too soft and unsculpted, Sylvain complied. He had nothing else. Not now. Probably not ever. Even this imperfect doppelganger was better than another moment pretending it didn't hurt.

The man rolled his hips and bucked and by all reasonable measures it should have been a fantastic fuck. Sylvain heard himself moaning as he pushed into the man, but it felt distant and detached. Still, as he kept thrusting, as the pace between them built, more and more of his mind slipped into a comfortable, incoherent fog. 

He found himself sweating and panting. He didn't even mind the man's chattering cries anymore. Sylvain hunched forward, his hand running up to touch the man's neck. He waited for a response, but it never came. Crazily, some part of him longed to apply more pressure, but the man writhing under him seemed to have no interest in that. He pushed his hips harder into Sylvain.

"Are you gonna come?" the man asked. "I'm so close. Oh goddess." 

Sylvain didn't bother answering. He concentrated on getting the man to his orgasm, already giving up on his own. It was fine, he told himself. It wasn't bad. They'd both gotten a little of what they wanted. The man below him seemed like he got pretty much everything he'd come to Sylvain for as he shuddered, crying out as he came on the bed sheets. 

Sylvain gave a few more hopeless thrusts, letting out a sigh. He eased out of the man and fetched something they could clean themselves up with. 

The man lay on the bed, spent and sweating and grinning giddily up at Sylvain. He pulled Sylvain down beside him after they'd cleaned up. 

"Goddess, that was good," he said. 

Sylvain just smiled at him.

"Is something wrong?" 

"No, no," Sylvain said. "It was great. I just..."

"Look at us. So important, aren't we?" the man teased. 

Sylvain's stomach turned at that. How many anonymous faces had teased and prodded in just this way? He'd hoped this one didn't realize who he was, but it seemed his optimism was misplaced. "Please leave," Sylvain muttered.

"What?"

"Leave," he said louder. 

The man sat up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sylvain said, but he was yelling now, jumping off the bed to snatch up his own clothes. "Just go. Please, go. Go away." 

The man's mouth flapped helplessly. It settled on a look of hatred and disgust. _Fine,_ Sylvain thought. At least that was a familiar one, an expression he knew how to deal with. 

The man huffed and muttered as he stumbled back into his clothes and started for the door. 

"You know, you're not even as impressive as you think you are, Gautier," the man sneered.

"I know," Sylvain muttered. 

The man spun on his heel, stomping toward the door. It flung open before he reached it, nearly striking him in the face. The man froze, gaping at Dimitri filling the doorway. 

"K—k—king Dimitri," he stuttered.

Dimitri merely waved and the man rushed away, bowing as he went. Once he was finally gone, Dimitri strode into the room, shutting the door behind him. Sylvain was surprised to see the young king was alone; he couldn't recall the last time he'd seen Dimitri without Dedue. 

He stood at the opposite end of the room. His one good eye took in Sylvain (still disheveled but mostly dressed), the stain on the bed sheets, the towel on the floor. 

Sylvain swallowed. Was he supposed to kneel? But Dimitri just waved at a chair, taking one himself. Sylvain settled across from him. 

"Still getting into the same old trouble, Sylvain?" Dimitri said, and he was almost, almost, the boy Sylvain had grown up with. Almost. But not quite. Because the man before him now was harder, more worn and weathered, stained in blood even as he sought more. The one eye that bore into Sylvain had a glint of madness behind it, a glint that had sharpened during the war. 

Still, Sylvain tried to pretend it was just Dimitri he was talking to and not the specter who'd replaced him. "You know me, my liege," he said. "Helpless before a pretty face." 

Dimitri raised a single eyebrow and Sylvain's stomach sank. "Looked a bit like Felix, that one. At least from a few paces back. Wouldn't you say?"

Dimitri may as well have punched the air out of him. Sylvain winced, trying to laugh but managing something closer to a strangled cough. 

"And the one before him," Dimitri went on, cutting Sylvain with each word. "And the one before that."

Sylvain was gritting his teeth now. "What's your point?" 

Dimitri smirked, a wicked twist of the lips like a lion snarling. "You finally dropped the formality." 

Sylvain sat back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Do not think I haven't noticed your dalliances in my castle," Dimitri said. "I see all that happens here."

"So?"

Dimitri leaned forward, smiling unpleasantly at Sylvain. "There is something you want, isn't there, Sylvain? Something you want very, very badly. Something carving its way through your guts no matter how many pretty bimbos you take to your bed."

Sylvain felt sick. He wondered again why he'd even come here. Because he'd been summoned. That was, of course, the answer. One did not simply dismiss a king's summons, even if that king was an insane and terrifying version of your childhood friend. 

Even so, Sylvain found himself wishing again that he too had disappeared on that night more than two months ago. He should have ridden off with Felix and the others. Why did he have to be the one still stuck in this shit? Why did he have to be here all alone with Dimitri bearing down on him and tearing open fresh wounds just for fun? 

_There are too many people depending on you back in Gautier,_ he heard Felix say again. _They need you._

And what about what _he_ needed? Had Felix ever once considered that?

"I need your help," Dimitri said. 

And there it was again. When would they stop taking from him? "Yeah, well, you have a funny way of asking," Sylvain said. He was gripping his own arms tight. 

Dimitri rolled his eye. "Don't play pathetic, Sylvain."

"I'm not playing anything."

"Of course you are," Dimitri said. "Your whole life has been a game, a play. You're always pretending." 

Sylvain ground his teeth together, unable to reply. 

"I'm not stupid," Dimitri said. He snapped the last word as though Sylvain had accused him of something. As he continued, his voice dropped to a low, dangerous rasp. "You want Felix. You always have. I've seen you grasping after his shadow your whole life."

"So?" Sylvain had to say something, anything that might derail this horrible inquisition. 

"You let him flee, didn't you?" Dimitri said. 

"I told you, it was all under control until Andres sent that assassin. They were gone before I even knew what happened."

"That's not true though, is it?" Dimitri tilted his head to one side. "You think I'm mad. You think I'm cracking, that I'll snap any day, but you're wrong. I. See. Everything. You let him go, Sylvain. Even though it hurt you terribly, you protected Felix again. Now you're here, lying to a king, trying to maintain the fiction you've built up out of love for a man who doesn't care if you live or die." 

Dimitri stood and Sylvain tried to flinch back. The king strode to his chair, holding Sylvain by the chin, forcing him to look up into that glinting blue eye. "He doesn't love you. He never will. You think me cold and cruel, but how much harder is Felix's heart? To leave you here carrying all this on your own. And for what? So he can run off and shoulder none of the responsibility required of him." 

"That's not why..."

"Then tell me," Dimitri said. "Tell me why he left you."

Sylvain felt a tremble wash through his body. Dimitri held him firmly, allowing no escape. He knew the king's unnatural strength could break him with a thought. 

Dimitri's smile stretched. "It was for Ashe, no? All for Ashe. And nothing for you."

Sylvain's teeth chattered, as hard as he tried to clench them. A tear slipped down his cheek. 

Dimitri relented, releasing Sylvain and settling back down in his chair as though they'd merely discussed the weather. 

"I'm going to give you a battalion," Dimitri said. 

Sylvain blinked, scrubbing the tear off his cheek. "What?"

"Go south. Or don't. Go wherever you think he is."

"How would I..."

"I have every confidence you'll find him." Dimitri rose, slapped Sylvain on the shoulder and left the room without another word. 

For a long time after that, the only sound in the bed chamber was Sylvain's own breaths, strangely loud and ragged as he sat where Dimitri had left him. He stared at the floor, but saw nothing. 

Then, abruptly, he stood. Sylvain gathered what little he'd brought with him to Fhirdiad, packing up clothes, a knife, a few odds and ends. And he, too, left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't stop bullying Sylvian. Also, villain Dimitri is so much fun. Very pleased with that decision on my part. 
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover)
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	3. Nightmares and Fantasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe is awoken by yet another horrible nightmare. Luckily, Felix and Annette are there to comfort him.

Ashe watched the land recede. It floated down like sand in an hourglass. And not just the bit he was standing on. All of it, as far as he could see. The entire continent was sinking away. 

And in its place came water. 

The oceans rushed in, a gushing font. As the land fell away, water lapped at Ashe's toes, then his ankles, then his calves. Soon, he no longer felt the land beneath him. He was treading in the water now, struggling to stay afloat. But with the entire continent gone, with nothing solid as far as he could see, it was merely a matter of when he'd drown, not if. 

Around him, he saw others in the water. One by one they slipped beneath the surface. Sometimes, they reappeared, only to eventually give up and disappear beneath the all-consuming ocean. 

Ashe was alone. Still, he tread. Inevitable as his fate felt, he couldn't bring himself to give up. "Someone," he tried, but his voice was weak. It was difficult to speak, like pushing past a hand gripping his throat. "Someone," he called, but got no response. "Please, someone. Someone. Someone."

#

Ashe heard his own wheezing gasps as he awoke. "Someone," he rasped, forcing his voice out of a constricted throat. 

"Ashe."

He startled, coming fully awake. It took a moment for Ashe to realize the dream wasn't real, that the land below him was firm and solid and not sliding away into oblivion. 

Felix was stroking Ashe's hair off his sweaty forehead. Just as he did every time he woke Ashe from another nightmare. They were always different: Drowning, burning, running, being buried, being caged, being trapped. But they all came from the same broken shard of his subconscious.

Ashe sat up and let Felix hold him in the dark until the shaking quieted and the grasping tendrils of the dream receded to a pale memory. 

"Are you OK?" Felix asked.

"Not really," Ashe admitted. 

When would it stop? When would it end? When could he sleep through the night peacefully and not wake either sweating or screaming? When could he hear a door slam and not go cold with terror? When could anyone but Felix or Annette's touch stop feeling like burning coals on his skin?

When would he be OK?

"Is there anything I can do?" Felix said. He had his arms around Ashe. That strong, steady hold made Ashe feel solid and stable, but it didn't quiet the nest of angry bees buzzing inside him. 

"I don't know," Ashe said. 

Felix loosened his hold so he could stroke Ashe's hair, dragging his fingers through it. Ashe closed his eyes and tried to let the feel of Felix's hand calm his frayed nerves, but that angry buzzing within him just wouldn't stop. It was like a whole hive of hornets that someone had kicked awake. Now they were swarming within him, making him feel like his entire body was flickering. He wished he could push the quivering energy inside him outward somehow, expel it so he could feel still again, but he had no idea how to achieve that. 

Felix released him, shifting to sit in front of Ashe. "Take my hands," he said.

Ashe set his hands in Felix's. 

"I don't remember this well," Felix said, "but one of my first sword instructors would have us do this … thing. I thought it was stupid, but maybe it'll help, if you want to try."

"OK."

"It was supposed to make us more focused," Felix said. "We had to train to stay calm no matter what the scenario. It's meant for battle, but..."

Ashe didn't need Felix to finish the thought. They both understood that whatever Ashe was fighting within himself was as much a battle as swords clashing on a bloodied field.

"Breathe in until I squeeze your hands, then exhale until I let go," Felix said. "Ready?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Go ahead."

Ashe drew in a slow breath. He breathed until he couldn't suck in any more air, then Felix finally squeezed his hands and he started letting it out. Felix let go and Ashe started another deep breath. They went through several cycles of this, Felix breathing along with him, his hands guiding Ashe through the exercise. Ashe had to concentrate to try to get the breathing right; it seemed that every time he found a rhythm Felix coaxed him to breathe in deeper or exhale for longer. 

Finally, Felix released his hands. "Any improvement?" he said.

Ashe paused. The frantic energy within him had calmed without him even noticing. The restless nest of bees wasn't gone, but it also wasn't trying to burst through his chest anymore. His hands felt steady for the first time since he'd woken from the nightmare.

"Yes," he said. "I didn't even realize..."

"That's the point," Felix said. "Get out of your own head."

"Thank you," Ashe said. "Thank you for dealing with … whatever this is."

"I don't mind."

"I know," Ashe said. "It just seems unfair. I don't even know what--" He gestured at his own head. "I don't know what's going on in there, why it's so broken. I have no idea how to fix it or if it can be fixed. Sometimes it just … sometimes it's just bad for no reason and I don't know what to do."

"It's OK," Felix said. "I'll be here."

"I can't just make you fix it every time," Ashe said. 

"Of course you can," Felix said. They sat cross-legged, knee to knee, near enough that Felix could reach forward to stroke Ashe's cheek. "I'm the knight in your stories, remember? I'm meant to ride in and save you."

Ashe couldn't help but laugh. How sweet and naive all that stuff about knights and stories seemed now. "I really believed in that stuff back then," he said. 

"There's no reason to stop believing," Felix said. "I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere." 

Felix's amber eyes held Ashe's, obstinately steady. Ashe felt a lump rise in his throat. The tear that slipped from his eye wasn't sadness, but relief. The tension constantly coiled up within him, strangling him from the inside, leaked out in soft tears and shaky breaths. 

Ashe leaned forward, slipping his hands behind Felix's neck to pull him into a kiss. Felix felt like a rock in the middle of a raging river, a solid haven amid the torrent of water trying to toss Ashe downstream. Ashe couldn't help clawing at that safety, holding Felix tighter, drawing him deeper into the kiss. Felix moaned softly against Ashe's lips, a sound that seeped through Ashe, calming the storm lurking within him. 

Ashe was already crawling forward when they broke apart. He straddled Felix's lap, draping his arms around Felix's shoulders. Felix put his hands at Ashe's waist, slipping them under Ashe's tunic to caress his bare skin. But he applied no pressure and did not pull Ashe any closer. He was always cautious at times like these, always sitting back and letting Ashe lead. For a man everyone thought cold and distant, Ashe knew Felix was actually quite deliberate and gentle.

But Ashe didn't want deliberate just then. He wanted Felix, all of Felix, as close as he could get him.

He grasped Felix's hair in one hand, giving a little tug as he pulled Felix into a deeper kiss and hitched his hips forward. He tasted everything stable and good in the world in that kiss and resolved never to let it go.

#

Annette awoke when she heard Ashe yelling in his sleep. She always did.

Sometimes, he went weeks without a bad nightmare. Sometimes it seemed to happen every night. Annette heard Felix's voice soothing Ashe immediately and relaxed a little. Felix was always quick to wake up and shake Ashe out of the nightmare. 

If she was being honest, a little part of Annette felt jealous. That was her job. It had always been her job. It wasn't Felix taking care of Ashe back when they were students. It was Annette. It wasn't Felix whom Ashe cried on; it was Annette. 

But she knew those feelings were petty and small. She tried to push them aside, even as she heard the rumble of their voices from across the camp. Annette rolled onto her side, putting her back to Ashe and Felix as they talked. She'd heard Felix working to soothe Ashe plenty of times by now. Whatever he did seemed to work. It surprised Annette, if she was being honest. Felix had never seemed like a soothing sort of person; exactly the opposite, in fact. But Ashe seemed to turn the stoic swordsman into a soft puddle of pillows and promises just with his presence. 

She smiled. How could she feel anything but happy? If it was only Ashe and Annette, she could help him, sure. But she didn't think she could provide the kind of comfort Felix could. Whenever those two idiots looked at each other she could just vomit from the sweetness. They were like kids falling in love for the first time. She might have thought it pathetic if it wasn't obvious how happy it made Ashe. 

The voices faded away, replaced by heavier breaths and the occasional smack of a kiss. _Oh goddess,_ she thought. _At least give me a minute to go back to sleep._

But it was too late and Annette knew it. A soft moan whispered through the night. Felix's, she now knew. Goddess, she could tell them apart by _moans_ now! She heard Ashe's higher whine, then a shuffle of bodies and clothes. 

Well, there'd be no avoiding it now. It's not like she'd never heard it before. They were practically rabbits; if she woke up in the night for any reason odds were good someone was groaning and cooing on the other side of the campfire. 

She could think of worse sounds to wake up to. Ashe always sounded so happy. It was nice, hearing him sound something other than scared or nervous or anxious for a little while. And Felix. Some of the things he said to Ashe during those times... 

Annette felt the heat building in her body at that thought. She could well imagine what it must have looked like, the two beautiful fools going at it again, drunk on love and lust and freedom. She'd seen both of them herself. Individually, sure, but it wasn't a stretch to stitch the two memories together. 

They'd certainly been very different, in Annette's experience. Ashe was sweet, eager to please. He knew where to go and dove in enthusiastically. Felix had been hot and quick and surprisingly fumbling and awkward. Yet it somehow added to the charm. He'd taken direction well and learned quickly, in Annette's opinion. She couldn't fault him for that. As soon as she'd told him where to put--

Oh goddess, what was she thinking? Annette felt positively stifled by her blankets now. She kicked them off in a rush. 

That, as it turned out, was a noisy move. 

She heard Ashe and Felix stop, heard talking replace moans. Annette froze, trying not to gasp. Oh goddess, oh sweet, merciful Seiros, had they heard her? Did they know she was awake and listening? Did they know she was thinking about, well, about them, about... Oh goddess, oh goddess. 

"If you're going to listen you might as well watch," Felix said. 

Annette nearly screamed. She went absolutely still, her whole body stiff as a board as she lay on her side with her back to the boys. _Oh please, please, please think I'm asleep. Pleeeease._

"We know you're awake," Ashe said, more gently than Felix's joking barb. "Sorry for being loud."

Annette swallowed around a lump. _Nope, not gonna answer. Not in a million years. Just over here sleeping. Sleeping. Totally sleeping._

Her blood went cold when she heard someone walking toward her. It was Ashe who crouched beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Annette yelped, jerking away and sitting up. 

"Annette," Ashe said, "we know you're awake. You don't have to pretend."

Ashe's shirt was gone but, thank the goddess, he still had pants on. 

"I—I—I just woke up just now."

"You didn't," Felix said. 

Annette looked up. Felix stood behind Ashe, arms crossed over his bare chest. She'd nearly forgotten how smooth and sculpted he was. Annette blinked, hoping the dark hid the heat rising in her cheeks. 

"I'm sorry," she said. "Oh goddess, I'm really sorry. I just heard Ashe yelling and I was worried about him and then I didn't quite fall back asleep in time and..." 

Ashe put a hand on her shoulder. "It's OK. It's our fault. We know we've probably been … obvious. And you've been really understanding about it."

Annette looked at her hands, the ground, anything but the two men before her. "Well, I just, it's not a big deal. I mostly just sleep through it. It's not that bad." 

"Not bad?" Felix said. "Or do you like it?"

Annette's eyes and mouth went wide in shock. Was he teasing her? About this? Right _now_? "I—I—I—I—" She took it all back, every nice thing she'd ever thought about Felix. 

"Don't be mean," Ashe said, but he was laughing behind his hand. "What he means is, well, you don't have to be left out, if you don't want to be." 

Annette's eyes went even wider, if that was possible. She felt like all the air had burst out of her lungs, like her eyes might just pop right out of her head. She was going to die. She was actually going to fucking die.

Felix rolled his eyes and crouched down as well. "We're inviting you to join us, if you want," he said. "If not, whatever." 

Annette floundered for words. "Is this … Do you feel sorry for me? Because I'm fine. It's not like I haven't slept with both of you already, just separately."

"You slept with her?" both men said in unison, looking to each other.

"When you called me a whore," Ashe said.

"When I thought you were dead," Felix said.

"You seriously didn't know?" Annette said. "Geeze, you might want to spend a few minutes actually talking and not just fucking." 

Felix turned his sharp amber eyes on Annette, but said, "It'll just make things easier." 

Annette felt a flutter at that. She remembered well those sure hands, that ability to take direction and go where she told him. 

"What do you say?" Ashe said. "We don't want to bother you, so really it's fine, whatever you decide."

She practically melted when Ashe took her hand. So sweet, so happy just to make someone else happy.

Sweet goddess, but she couldn't help imagining the possibilities. One, quick with taking direction; the other, so eager to please. What could she possibly offer to that mix? Yet she found herself nodding, almost without realizing it. 

Ashe smiled at her. She felt warm all over, seeing genuine happiness on her best friend's face for the first time in so long. He leaned in and kissed her, soft as a butterfly brushing her lips. It was almost like that time back at the monastery when Felix being moody had seemed like the most dire thing in all the world. But this time it wasn't heartbreak she was kissing away. It was time and distance and deep, deep scars. Annette drew closer, luxuriating in Ashe's closeness. It felt like being warm after months of cold, like coming home after wandering for years. She finally had Ashe near her again, close and joyful and almost whole. 

She yelped when she felt a mouth at her neck. Felix laughed at her reaction, a quick breath against her skin that sent goosebumps all down her neck and arms. When had he gotten behind her? She'd heard nothing, but sure enough, there he was, his lips at her neck and hands at her waist. 

Ashe was smiling at her, bemused by her reaction. "Still OK?"

She could only nod. 

He leaned in for another kiss and now she had both of them on her. She could only tell the difference between their mouths by the softness of Ashe's versus the hunger of Felix's. The latter trailed down her neck and bit gently at the place where neck met shoulder. She gasped, surprised by the sensation. 

Ashe tilted Felix's head up away from her skin. "Be nice," he chided, but she could hear the laughter edging his voice. 

Felix huffed and lunged for Ashe. Annette found herself squeezed between them, listening to their haggard breaths as they kissed. She clung to Ashe, who had his hands on her thighs to steady himself. Felix was less delicate, one hand roaming up her side and cupping a breast. He gave it a squeeze, firm but not painful, and Annette let out a little squeak that drew her companions' attention away from each other. She blushed under their combined focus. 

But it was far too late to be bashful. Goddess, they were both so gorgeous. Ashe was like a flicker of moonlight falling between the trees, all soft and silver and warm. And Felix was the shadows, inky blue-black darkness luring her into deeper secrets. It was positively cruel that they'd never thought to share before now. 

She might have chided them, but Felix was loosening the laces at the top of her light sleeping shift even while Ashe's hands slid under the hem and up her thighs. She shuddered. Ashe's hands snuck higher, feeling her over undergarments, light little touches like petals fluttering against her. 

Felix got the laces loose. He tugged at the shift and she raised her arms so it could slip off over her head. Ashe had a hand on her bare midriff, nudging her backward. Annette lay back, propped up on her forearms. Ashe gave her another smile, this one positively giddy with mischief, then lowered his head and started kissing up her thighs. 

She would have yelped yet again, but Felix was already on her mouth, tilting her head toward him. He groped her bare breasts, teasing a nipple, massaging in broad circles. That, combined with Ashe's tongue exploring the soft skin between her thigh and her undergarments, had her moaning into Felix's mouth. 

She shifted her hips to help when Ashe tugged at her undergarments. As soon as they were gone, his mouth and hands replaced them. Ashe needed no direction to put his mouth just where it was most needed. He pushed his tongue against her, pressing harder whenever she reacted. Meanwhile, one finger ran delicately around her entrance, teasing but never pressing inside. The longer he played the more she wanted that finger inside her, though. Annette arched, losing Felix's mouth as she let out a moan. 

"Ashe," she gasped. "Oh, Ashe. Come here." 

He heeded her call, crawling up to her side. She shoved him down onto his back, getting on all fours over him. She could feel Felix watching her as she got Ashe's pants off and freed his cock, taking it in her hand and pumping. Ashe responded with sweet little whimpers and moans. It was a wonderful sight, his cheeks flushed, head thrown back, body relaxed as she stroked him. Goddess, what a beautiful thing, seeing him joyful. 

She leaned forward to kiss him, releasing his cock a moment. She could taste her own musk on his mouth. Annette lingered after the kiss ended, looking into his soft green eyes, seeing them happy and calm and at peace for the first time in so long. 

"I love you," she said.

He smiled, stroking her cheek. "I love you too, Annette." 

She gave him another quick peck, then trailed down his body, kissing as she went, until she had his cock in her hand. She licked up the shaft, feeling Ashe quiver as she did, then put it in her mouth, moving slowly. 

Annette startled when she felt a hand rub her. Silent as a shadow, Felix had crouched behind her, his fingers wandering along her pussy. He did not tease her as Ashe had; when his fingers found the wetness around her opening, he paused only a moment, then pushed a digit inside her. 

Annette moaned around Ashe's cock. If his mouth was somewhat unsure, Felix's hands definitely knew what they were doing. Even with a single finger, he seemed to hit all the right places inside her, leaving her aching for more. She slid her lips up and down Ashe's cock faster, responding to her own pleasure as much as his. Ashe had a hand in her hair, his breaths quick and rasping.

Then Felix got a second finger in and Annette opened her mouth wide, losing Ashe as she gasped. Felix had a hand on her hip, pulling her back into his fingers as he pumped them into her. She ended up with her forehead against Ashe's abdomen, squeezing her eyes shut as she whimpered from Felix's touch. 

"Oh fuck," Annette moaned. "Oh Ashe, I'm sorry. I—Ah!" 

She heard him laugh distantly. He stroked her hair as she begged Felix for more. But the swordsman slowed. She felt Felix lean in close, his voice a low rasp at her ear. "I think Ashe should do it, don't you?"

There was that teasing tone again. She would have strangled him if he wasn't making her feel so gods damned good. 

Ashe came to her rescue. "Felix, that's not very friendly." He got up from under Annette and moved around Felix. 

Ashe sat behind Felix now, one hand stroking his cock while Ashe kissed up his neck. Annette turned around to watch, blinking. Even having seen them both individually, even hearing it night after night, it was still a sight to behold. 

Felix practically melted in Ashe's hands, all his harsh teasing and hard planes gone. Ashe coaxed Felix out of his clothes, sat behind him and ran his hand up and down Felix's cock. Felix's amber eyes fluttered shut and his head tilted back. Ashe kissed at his neck, his tongue flicking out at Felix's earlobe. It was like moonlight flickering between the shadows, curtains of silver light softening the darkness. The stars cast a faint glow that highlighted all the ropey, sculpted muscle coiled through Felix's body. Ashe's green eyes were bright when he gazed at his lover's flushed face, pushing him further. Their bodies rolled in unison, their breaths heavy, hot rasps. 

Annette found her hand wandering down her own body. She ran her finger around her clit. Goddess, they were beautiful. It was the stuff of paintings and sonnets. Ashe whispered something at Felix's ear that made the swordsman shudder and that breath of vulnerability, of surrender, of softness, was even more enticing than all the carved, toned planes of his body.

Felix jerked suddenly, turning so he could grasp Ashe by the sides of his head and kiss him roughly. He seemed for all the world like he'd completely forgotten Annette existed, his unwavering devotion on full display. Somehow that just made it all the hotter to watch. Ashe kept Felix from tackling him down to the ground right there and then, but it clearly took an effort. 

"Not like that," Ashe said. This time, it was Felix who whined, a soft little noise Annette never imagined she'd hear. 

Ashe guided Felix down onto his back. He leaned in close, his hand on Felix's chest, lips close to Felix's mouth. Felix looked like he wanted to reach up and grab Ashe, but Ashe stopped him. "I think you've been teasing Annette a bit too much, hm?" Ashe said. 

Felix didn't reply. Ashe brought up Felix's hand and started sucking on a finger, licking and slurping. Annette could see Felix going through the same series of reactions she was experiencing: Surprise, desire, hunger. Ashe was toying with both of them now as he sucked on Felix's finger, alternating his eye contact between Annette and Felix. 

Just when Annette—and likely Felix—felt she could take no more, Ashe took the finger out of his mouth and drew Annette forward. 

Felix needed no instruction. His mouth found her clit the moment she was over him and Annette gasped. The wet finger Ashe had been sucking on went for her entrance, pushing in swiftly. Annette straightened, pressing her hands on Felix's chest to steady herself. It felt like her whole body was on fire; she was sure Felix had to be drowning below her. 

Ashe eased back a little, sucking on his own fingers this time. He held Annette's eyes as he did and she blinked, even as she tried to cope with the machinations of Felix's mouth and fingers. 

Ashe actually _winked_ at her before his hand trailed down Felix. Then, his slick finger entered Felix, who arched up in response, letting out a warm sigh against Annette's pussy. 

Felix's fingers became more urgent, pressing against her, threatening to release the flood building within her. His tongue had found the right spot and pressed relentlessly into it, pushing her toward her orgasm. 

Meanwhile, Ashe was pumping his fingers inside Felix, first one, now two, pounding in a steady rhythm. Annette could see Felix's cock twitching as he got rammed by Ashe's fingers and great sweet merciful goddess was it hot. Felix, of all people, on his back in the dirt getting pounded on one side and lapping up her pussy on the other. She could feel his moans against her now. They echoed up her body as he groaned into her clit, still licking and sucking. 

"Fuck," he gasped suddenly, and a spurt of cum splattered across his abdomen. His whole body quivered. Felix's fingers slipped out of her as he momentarily lost control. 

Ashe swept in, crawling over Felix and moving Annette back so he could replace Felix's mouth with his own. He picked up right where his partner had left off, his tongue giving Annette no reprieve as she laid back on the ground. Ashe used his opposite hand to get a finger inside her. It was less dexterous perhaps than his right hand, but that made little difference to Annette just then. She couldn't take much more teasing. She grabbed Ashe's hair to tell him so.

"Oh goddess, Ashe, please," she said. "Harder."

He got a second finger in her. When he curled the digits she nearly screamed. His seemed to push against her in just the right spot. Annette practically tore his lovely silver hair out of his head as she arched up, feeling the heat of her orgasm crashing toward her.

Suddenly, Ashe yelped. Annette could just see Felix sliding under him, getting Ashe's cock into his mouth. Ashe steadfastly kept licking at Annette, though, not missing a single beat with those delicate, precise fingers of his. 

Ashe whimpered against her, even as he pushed her toward the edge. Annette squeezed her eyes shut, still holding his hair. She couldn't shake the image of Felix sucking his cock, though. Felix gasping and shuddering earlier when Ashe came up behind him and stroked him. Ashe sucking on his own finger to taunt them both.

Goddess damn her, was she really fantasizing about the two of them while one of them fucked her? Annette might have laughed at herself, but her whole body ached desperately for release. They'd teased her for so long this night and now she needed relief. 

And what a relief it promised to be.

She could feel her body coiling around it, preparing to spring loose in a torrent. Every time she thought she reached a peak there was another push from Ashe's deft fingers and she was spiraling higher. It was almost painful, getting so close, so tantalizingly close, but never hitting that final moment of release. 

Distantly, she heard Ashe cry out, felt him quivering, yet he continued, determined. And now there was another hand, Felix's hand, massaging her breasts. Felix sucked on a nipple. She grasped his shoulder, her nails digging into his skin. 

And finally, finally, it was all too much. 

Annette felt like she was screaming when she arched up, spilling wetness onto Ashe's hand. Her feet dug into the ground; her nails bit Felix's skin. She pulled on Ashe's hair as shudders stomped through her. She felt like she was being thrown around by an angry sea, tossed and tumbled until she finally struck land again. 

When she was able to relax, Felix and Ashe were both watching her. Ashe was smiling at her, but Felix merely looked hungry again. Despite her exhaustion, her body shivered in response. She realized with mingled horror and fascination that she'd go again, right away, if either of them asked. 

Thankfully, they didn't. Instead, Ashe fetched all their blankets and clothes. They curled up on the ground together. Annette lay in between the men, Felix on one side and Ashe on the other. Ashe rested his head on her chest, snuggling up at her side. Felix was also close at her side, but mostly so he could reach Ashe's hand and stroke it. 

Goddess, he was pathetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Love. This. Trio. I didn't even know how much I loved this trio. They're my universe now. 
> 
> I set myself the unspoken challenge of having two cis men and one cis woman involved in this, but not making it all about dicks going in holes. And I think I achieved that. 
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover)!
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	4. Between the Battle Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe, Annette and Felix need supplies. While traveling to the closest town, they encounter familiar foes on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter in 12 chapters that has zero sex! It's a brave new world for Knight and Squire. 
> 
> TW/CW: Panic/anxiety/PTSD. I have included this because I believe it's authentic and true to the character/situation. I have attempted to treat the topic as sensitively and compassionately as possible, but I'm just some nerd writing fanfic on the internet, so please bear with me.

Ashe stitched the sole of his shoe, pushing the needle through soft leather. With their horses long ago sold off, it was shoes that needed tending in the mornings. Ashe elected himself for the task. He found the simple motion of getting the needle through the leather and looping it back around calming. Many mornings, the repetition helped quiet the final echoes of some nightmare, helped still his nerves and clear his mind and bring him into the present. 

There were no nightmares to chase this morning, however.

He smiled to himself, sneaking a glance up from the shoe. Annette was wiping cutlery dry while Felix rolled up the blankets the three of them had shared last night. Annette hummed to herself, muttering a little tune about spoons. Felix bundled up a blanket and got it tied, but Ashe saw his head nodding faintly in time with Annette's soft singing.

The sun was poking between the treetops already, but that wasn't what was making Ashe feel warm and cozy all over. Waking in the arms of the only two people he loved as much as his siblings felt like waking into another dream. Ashe had slept more deeply and peacefully than he had in more than a year, the combined warmth of Annette and Felix wrapped around him like a protective barrier.

Best of all, they were both still there in the morning, not a figment or a fantasy but real and tangible and safe. Some part of Ashe struggled to believe it, even now. Some part of him still thought he'd wake back up in a cage somewhere, that this had to be a figment, that he was bound to lose everything sooner or later. But he kept at his sewing, pushing those thoughts aside as the physical proof of love and safety stood before him, singing and clearing up camp. 

Felix caught him staring. Concern tightened his face when he met Ashe's eyes, but Ashe shook his head. Felix often spotted him staring, drifting off, his eyes unfocused and lost. Usually, he pulled Ashe out of it, bringing him back to the present and out of some horrible memory. But there was no need this time and Ashe tried to say as much with a smile. Felix did not quite relax, though, his keen eyes searching for any sign of hurt. 

"Merciful goddess, can you two use your words?" Annette cut in. "It's like you're having a whole conversation I'm not invited to." 

"It was nothing," Ashe said. He rose from where he sat with his shoe, presenting it to Felix. "Cut, please."

Felix snapped the extra thread with a knife. 

"How are your shoes?" Ashe said, looking between both his companions. "Lots more walking ahead of us." 

"Fine," Felix said.

"No holes here," Annette said. She bundled up the cutlery in the towel she'd been using to dry it. They all set to work reassembling their packs, stuffing them as full as possible and securing the bedrolls on top. 

"Which direction do you think we should go?" Ashe said once he'd gotten the familiar weight of his pack back on his shoulders. The forest seemed the same in all directions, trees and winding game trails as far as he could see. As the sun climbed higher, a gauzy veil of green-gold fell between the canopy of treetops. Humidity and heat already suffused the forest, like a great sighing breath. It would be another of the hot, hazy days Ashe had grown accustomed to in the south of Fodlan. 

Ashe realized he still hadn't gotten any reply. He found his companions standing behind him looking concerned. 

Ashe sighed. "What?" 

"You look far away," Felix said. 

"Yeah, you're kind of drifting off on us," Annette said. "You sure you feel alright?"

"I'm fine," Ashe insisted.

A flush of pink tinged Annette's cheeks. "Was last night..." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "Too much?"

Ashe blinked. "What? Why would it be?"

"We should have considered..." Felix said.

Ashe was grateful he didn't finish the thought. They should have considered whether Ashe could handle it, whether it was too much touch, whether it would be overwhelming for his broken psyche. Ashe's heart sank. Was that really what they thought? That they'd hurt him somehow? 

"It was wonderful," Ashe said. 

"Really?" Annette said. She looked like she wanted to duck down into her own shoulders until she disappeared. 

"Annette, Felix." Ashe stepped toward them so he could take a hand of each. "Stop it. I can decide when something is OK or not."

"You just get that look sometimes," Annette said. "Like you're..."

"Lost," Felix said.

Ashe squeezed their hands, smiling. "Sometimes I am. But not today." Still they stared, so he added, "I promise." He stepped close enough to kiss each in turn, swift pecks on the cheek, then looped his arms through theirs. "Come on. Enough of this. We need food and supplies. And a bath wouldn't hurt either."

Felix grumbled something inaudible. Ashe pulled them both along, starting through the forest with Annette humming as they walked.

#

The heat built all day. Felix muttered under a wide-brimmed hat. Even bound up, stray strands of hair clung to his neck. He thought wistfully of the cool winds and cloudy skies of the north.

Felix shoved the thought aside. The north wasn't an option. Not now, possibly not ever. Not with Andres running Fraldarius in all but name. Though perhaps his father's adviser ruled in name also now. Felix thought that if Rodrigue were still alive he'd hardly be surprised by his aid's ambitions. Or by his son's failure. 

More thoughts not deserving of Felix's energy. He set his attention on the path ahead. 

After picking through the forest that morning, they'd found a road winding off in the distance. It was little more than packed dirt, but it was wide enough for a farmer's cart to pass and the ruts in the ground suggested one had recently. It was a blind guess as to which direction the cart had gone, which direction a town or village may lie in, so they'd faced the rising sun and started walking. 

Finally, after pausing midday to escape the heat under a tree and eat from their sparse supplies, Ashe spotted a field off in the distance too neat and orderly to be random wilderness. Sure enough, as they kept up their march, they discovered a farmhouse guarding a field plowed with uniform furrows. It wasn't long after that they noticed the telltale signs of a town. The road smoothed out. The ruts crisscrossed like a web laid out in the dirt. A signpost declared "Hevring" and pointed farther east. 

"Are we actually near Hevring?" Annette wondered aloud. 

"Not likely," Ashe said. "We're still too far west for that. It's probably just the next big settlement between here and the water." 

"But there's _something_ ahead, right?" Annette said. "I think I'll just die if I can't wash off soon. And I'm so hungry. Oh, do you think they have a bakery? What I'd give for a sweet bun. Or maybe one of those little sugar cookies like Dedue used to make. Oh, they were so good." She hugged herself as she rattled off more sweets. 

Ashe chuckled at her. "I don't think there'll be anything like that down here. But maybe you'll get to try some new sweets you've never had."

"Aw, but I like the old ones," Annette whined. 

Felix stopped listening as they chattered on. Something else had caught his ear, a low thrum like the rumble of thunder far off in the distance. Except it was too steady, too measured. He scanned the horizon. Rolling hills obscured his view but far ahead one of the shadows atop a hill shifted.

Felix grabbed both his companions by the collars, halting them with a jerk. 

"Hey, what--" Annette started

"Stop," he cut in. They both grew gravely quiet in his hold, following his gaze. 

"What is that?" Ashe asked quietly. 

Felix didn't respond. The shadows were cresting the hill, sunlight glinting off iron and steel. Felix searched for any sort of cover in the open landscape, then yanked Ashe and Annette off the road and downhill. He released them and the trio ran, Felix in the lead. There was nothing to conceal them, no cover but the hills themselves, so Felix hurried down and down and down until they were far from the road, nestled in the crook of two hills. There, he urged Ashe and Annette to duck down and flung off his pack, easing his sword loose in its scabbard. 

He saw Ashe eye the finger of bare steel exposed at Felix's hip. Felix bit back a curse. After all that talk this morning... But he had to protect them, whatever the cost. 

"Soldiers?" Ashe whispered.

Felix nodded. 

"Whose?"

Felix just shook his head. There was no way to know from this far out so they all crouched low, waiting, tense, pressed against warm, fragrant grass and praying they hadn't already been seen. 

Felix heard the soldiers before he saw them again. Their boots beat like a heartbeat beneath the ground, a steady, constant thrum. Felix's own heart beat in time, pounding to the rhythm of war. It awakened something dark and old and hungry within in him, like rousing a predator with the scent of raw meat. Something whispered within him to strike before they could, to start the killing before they even realized he was there. Ashe could flee while they dealt with Felix, if they could deal with him. 

His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. Even he couldn't fight an entire battalion, and that appeared to be what was marching over the hills. From the shine of weapons and armor, Felix estimated a few hundred soldiers tromped toward them. He scanned for banners, heraldry, anything that might mark them. 

Felix went cold when he found it. Off in the back, several soldiers carried banners. Blue and gold banners emblazoned with lions. 

"Dimitri." 

He didn't realize he'd bitten out the name until Ashe gasped beside him. "Why?" Ashe said. 

If Felix had a response, he didn't get to voice it. 

As the soldiers stomped over the hills, a different beat rose, a quick, frantic, uneven, disorderly beat that seemed to echo from all sides. From under bushes, around buildings, between trees and over hills a second force appeared, spears and swords raised high as they rushed in on either side of Dimitri's soldiers. 

The new force barreled into Dimitri's troops before they had time to gather themselves and reorganize. The sounds of full-fledged battle rang out. The clash of swords. The screams of the dying. The braying of horses bucking and charging and kicking. The attackers battered Dimitri's troops from both sides, squeezing the defenders into a tight cluster.

It was hopeless. Felix saw that immediately. The new force may have been outnumbered, but Dimitri's troops were unprepared. They'd clearly not been expecting any kind of attack. Order dissolved as the hills turned red and brown with blood and mud. Felix could hear commanders trying to shout for order and formations, but it was useless. The attackers had the advantage. The chaos and surprise played to their strength as they slaughtered Dimitri's troops gleefully. 

Felix, Ashe and Annette ducked down, listening to the battle off near the road. The cries got no less terrible as they hid, praying the fighting didn't stray closer. From what Felix could tell, it sounded like the attackers were having their fun and Dimitri's troops—those who could—were already in full retreat. 

He might have relaxed as the battle waned. Then he heard a voice rise above the clamor: "We are pursuing them now. We are finding any who ran." 

They had to get away from this place, as far away as they could. He could see his own thoughts reflected in Ashe and Annette's faces. They gathered their packs silently and started crawling away, staying low as they shuffled between two hills. 

It sounded like they were getting farther from the site of the battle. Felix almost allowed himself to hope they'd escape. Then horse hooves clomped into view, stopping directly before them. 

Felix reached for his sword, still on his hands and knees, and a spear tip pressed against his throat. He followed the blade up and up to the rider on the horse.

"We won't be doing that now, Felix," Petra said, smirking down at him. 

Felix eased his hand away from his sword. Petra drew back her spear, but only a little. 

"Get up," she said. 

Felix and the others stood. Already other soldiers surrounded them, Petra's soldiers, from the look of their red uniforms. The uniforms weren't the standard gray fare of Fodlan, Felix realized. The troops around them sometimes had beads and scarves and bands in colorful checkered designs. Many wore their hair in long, intricate braids. 

Petra spoke to them in a language Felix couldn't understand and they relaxed just a fraction. Then she turned to her former classmates, regarding them from atop her horse. Her hair was also braided, cascading down her back in a red-purple trail. She had orange beads around her neck and a bright shawl covering the leather armor at one shoulder. 

"How unusual," she said. "You are fighting for Dimitri, but you are looking like vagabonds." 

"Rude," Annette muttered. Petra raised an eyebrow at her and she squeaked and shrank back.

"We aren't fighting for Dimitri," Ashe said. Petra turned her steely gaze on him, but he held his ground.

"But you are his fighters, are you not?" Petra said.

"Not anymore," Ashe said.

"Oh?" Something in how she stretched out the word made Felix's stomach clench. 

"We're just trying to get to a town for some supplies," Ashe said. "We're not part of any army."

"Yet there is being war," Petra said. "And so we are all having sides." 

"The war is over," Ashe said. 

Petra smiled. "Is that so?" 

"Edelgard is dead," Felix said. 

Petra's eyes flickered over to him, but he refused to flinch. He felt a knife at his back. 

"No, Dorothea," Petra said. 

Dorothea made a disgusted noise behind Felix, but withdrew her knife. "It's beasts like him who killed her," Dorothea said. 

"I did not kill your emperor," Felix said.

"You helped," Dorothea snapped. "Don't pretend your hands aren't the bloodiest ones here, Felix Fraldarius. Why aren't you up north playing duke and slaughtering more people?" 

Felix bit back all the many ways he would have liked to answer Dorothea's implicit challenge. 

"Well," Petra goaded. "Answer. Why are you here, _Duke_ Fraldarius."

"I have no title," Felix said between gritted teeth.

"My, my," Dorothea purred. She strode around Felix, measuring him with her eyes as she did. It was like being evaluated by a hungry panther. "No title. No banner. No home. What exactly have we caught in our net here, hm?" 

Felix refused to answer as Petra and Dorothea bore into him. He scanned quickly, trying to ascertain how many soldiers surrounded them. Ashe was beside him, Annette a step farther. If he shoved Ashe at the same moment he drew his sword, could he convince Petra's troops to chase him instead? Could he create enough trouble to allow Ashe to get away? 

"I think we have our answer," Dorothea said. She stepped close to Felix, so close she could take his chin in her hand and speak at his ear. "Never took you for the sentimental type, Felix." 

He jerked away, but Dorothea just smiled, glancing at Ashe in a way that told Felix she had all the leverage she needed to keep him heeled. 

Felix could have ground his teeth to dust just then. He glared at Dorothea. His hand itched for his sword. Surely, he could kill her before anyone could stop him. After that—no, after that the whole army would descend on them and Ashe would be a prisoner again. He couldn't allow that to happen just when they were healing some of the damage done to him, just when he was coming back to himself, back to Felix. 

His crest sang like war drums beating within him. He could try. He could set the crest loose, really set it loose, and see how far he got before they killed him. 

His hand was on his hilt before he realized it. The soldiers around him jerked closer, though Dorothea did not react to his obvious threat. 

Ashe caught his wrist. 

Felix flinched, looking over to the other man. Ashe had a plea in his eyes. He held Felix's wrist firmly, giving a small shake of his head. 

Felix drew a breath. But his hand relaxed. 

Dorothea laughed. "Oh my, well, won't this be easy?" she said. She looked to Petra behind her on the horse.

"Yes, I think we will be having some talking," Petra said. 

She waved and her eager soldiers swept in, taking Felix's sword and knives, stripping the trio of their packs and binding their hands behind their backs. 

Dorothea hopped up on Petra's horse and they rode off as the soldiers secured their new prisoners. Felix's teeth ground together. He kicked at a soldier who patted him down a little too roughly and got a slap against the head for his trouble. He lunged, but someone tugged at the rope around his hands and he was jerked back. 

"Stop it, Felix," Annette shouted from somewhere off to the side. "You're making it worse." 

That's when Felix realized he heard gasping. Ashe was on the ground, not bruised or injured, but struggling for air. The soldiers around him seemed perplexed. One lifted Ashe, tossing him over their shoulder as he went on wheezing. 

"What did they do?" Felix said.

"Nothing," Annette said. "They didn't touch him. He's panicking. You have to be calm. Please, Felix."

Felix wanted to do everything _but_ be calm just then, but forced himself to breathe as the soldiers started marching. Felix didn't protest as they pushed him up the hill. The one carrying Ashe passed him off to another man at one point. Ashe still seemed to be fighting for breath, but less frantically. 

It was a miserable march to Petra's war camp, but there, at last, they set Ashe down. A semi-circle of soldiers stood around the trio, who were placed beside a tent, their hands still bound. 

Felix crawled to Ashe, who lay on his back trying to breathe. 

"Ashe," he said. "Are you injured? Are you hurt?"

Ashe managed to shake his head. 

"Do you want to sit up?" Annette asked.

Ashe nodded and Annette and Felix awkwardly helped brace Ashe so he could clamber up to his knees. He immediately slumped against Felix, putting his head against Felix's chest. Felix could hear him still breathing raggedly, in frantic, insufficient sips. Annette scooted close to Ashe's side. 

"What's happening to him?" Felix said. "Can you heal him?"

Annette shook her head. "He's not injured, Felix. He just needs to breathe." 

Ashe nodded against him, confirming Annette's diagnosis. "It's just..." he gasped. "Just … like last time." 

Felix's chest tightened around those words, trying to steal the memory away from Ashe. He knew now that what hurt Ashe was not the present but the past. He was relieving his capture in Enbarr and the long, horrible year that followed. Felix felt his crest beating alongside his heart, but it could not fix this.

"It's not like last time," Felix said. "I'm here. I'll protect you." 

Ashe shuddered against him, but it seemed like the worst of the panic had passed. His breathing gradually steadied, though he remained slouched with his head against Felix. 

Around them, the soldiers took little notice of their prisoners. How Felix longed to let loose with a thoron. If he called on the crest he could send it halfway through the camp. Let them sort that out. 

Felix shared a look with Annette, but she gave him a soft shake. No magic. She wouldn't help him. Not right now. 

Reluctantly, he admitted she was right. They weren't dead yet. And Ashe wasn't ready to run. 

Whatever Petra wanted with them, they'd have to comply. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ashe. I hope I've done justice to his experience and the general experience of PTSD type anxiety/panic. Again, I've tried to treat the subject with sensitivity and compassion. I hope I haven't put anyone off with this. I feel like with all Ashe has been through, being captured again would be extremely harrowing. I didn't want to simply ignore that or blow past it. But do let me know if you feel strongly about this because I'd like to do a good job with it.
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover)!
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	5. A Private Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petra invites Annette to come talk with her, but the conversation is not at all what Annette expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for an Annette chapter.

Petra did not harm them. Nor did she free them.

Annette, Ashe and Felix were kept in a tent surrounded day and night by guards. At least one was usually inside the tent as well, watching them silently. But their hands were not bound and they ate as well as any of Petra's soldiers. 

Petra even let them wash themselves, sharing a bucket of water and some rags. It wasn't the most comfortable bath of Annette's life, what with having to do it in front of the guard and all, but it was better than continuing to wallow in her own stink. 

Annette didn't mind the treatment, to be honest. No one harassed or bothered them. It was boring, but that was probably the worst of it.

But Ashe wasn't faring quite as well. The nightmares woke him nearly every night and it was often a struggle to get him calm. Annette and Felix did everything they could, but he was withering before their eyes, eating little, speaking even less, his cheeks going hollow and gray. 

Annette knew Felix, too, was nearing a breaking point. She was sensitive enough to magic to feel the hum of his crest vibrating the air when he became frustrated or angry. She feared he'd do something truly stupid and reckless soon. 

Annette had to prevent that, but she had no idea how. The thing Felix failed to consider in all his righteous rage was what _she_ would do in the wake of his mess. It wasn't like she could carry Ashe out of the camp on her own. And even if she could, where would they go? What would they do? Did Felix really think Ashe would leave him behind? 

Annette doubted he was thinking that far ahead, doubted he was thinking at all. He had one obvious drive. And noble though it might seem, it could land them all in even more trouble than they presently found themselves in. 

Annette sought a solution desperately, but it was all she could do just to keep Ashe stable and Felix calm. 

At the moment, the latter was pacing, making the guard stuck with them in the tent that day nearly as anxious as Ashe. 

"Could you not?" Annette said.

Felix halted long enough to glare at her, then went right back to his restless strides. 

Annette sighed and resolved to ignore him. She focused her attention on Ashe instead, who offered her a faint smile when she rolled her eyes. At least he was trying, haggard and thin and nervous though he looked. 

"Let's play a game," Annette said. She sat across from Ashe on the ground and offered her hands. His were clammy when he set them in hers. 

"Ready, ready," she sang, tapping his hands with each beat.

"Really?" Ashe said. 

"Do you have some better idea?" Annette said. "I know it's a kiddie game, but I can't think of anything better to do in this stuffy tent. Come on. Please?" 

Ashe sighed, but a smile tugged at his mouth. 

"Ready, ready," she sang again, tapping hands. 

"Ready, ready," he sang back, tapping. 

"One, one, two, two, I live in a… shoe, shoe," she sang, tapping out the beat. 

"Three, three, four, four, I live in a... a..."

She kept tapping out the beat on his hands, coaxing words out of him.

"I live in a..." Ashe said. "Boar, boar." 

His face reddened as they both laughed at his clumsy rhyme. It was nice to see a little light and color in his face, even if the blush faded quickly. 

She started tapping his palms again. "Five, five, six, six, my pet... knows lots of tricks, tricks."

"Seven, seven, eight, eight--"

Someone spoke with the guard. Ashe frozen, his palms going sweaty. Annette squeezed his hands as two more guards stomped into the tent. She could feel him quivering in her hold and let a small trickle of healing flow between them. It wouldn't really do anything, but it might feel soothing, or at least make him sleepy. 

Dorothea was the last to enter the tent. She rolled her eyes at Felix, whose hands had gone to waist, reaching for swords that weren't there. 

"Heel, dog," she said.

Felix bared his teeth and Annette feared he would make some lunge toward the mage. 

Dorothea seemed unphased. She turned her attention to Ashe and Annette, smiling almost sweetly. 

"Annette, dear, won't you join me?" she said.

"Just... me?" Annette said. 

"Yes, darling," Dorothea said. "We seek a reasonable conversation between adults. Not--" and she glared again at Felix "--rabid ravings. You are uniquely suited among your companions to speak intelligibly. If we are to speak, it simply _must_ be you."

Annette looked to Ashe. His eyes were too large again, his face too pale. But he nodded faintly. 

"No harm will come to them," Dorothea said. "Unless they provoke it." 

"I'll provoke--"

"Felix," Annette snapped. 

She released Ashe's hands and stood. "Very well. Let's talk."

"Oh, wonderful," Dorothea said. "Come along, dear. This tent is stifling, is it not?"

She turned and left, ignoring Felix's seething. Her guards followed, leaving only the one assigned to them that day. 

Annette hesitated. "Felix, please," she said. 

She could see him grinding his teeth. His hands were balled into fists. 

"If not for your own sake..." she said.

He relaxed, but only barely.

"Give me time," Annette said. "One conversation. Please, promise me. Let me do this."

He finally unclenched his jaw. "Fine," he said. But his fists loosened and he sat on the floor beside Ashe. 

It would have to be good enough. Annette left them behind, following Dorothea out of the tent. 

"Finally," Dorothea said. She took Annette's hand. Her guards jerked, but she waved them back, walking hand-in-hand with Annette through the camp.

The brightness of the day was startling after spending most of her time in the tent over the past week or so. When they'd first been captured, Petra's camp looked like a ramble of tents and fire pits. It had since morphed into neat rows of tents, with a larger tarp covering a food prep area. Horses grazed in a pen. Soldiers sparred in a cleared out training yard. Even knowing nothing of the language of Brigid, Annette could see how soldiers greeted each other by rank and shared the duties of maintaining the camp. Aside from the difference in language, she might have been back with the Blue Lions on any of their missions as students. 

"Not what you expected?" Dorothea said. "We aren't barbarians, despite the indecent things the nobles of Fodlan like to say about all us 'foreigners'." 

_We._ When had Dorothea become part of Brigid? 

"I never loved this place," Dorothea said, as though in answer to Annette's question. "Edie offered me a way out." Her tone grew wistful. "More than a way out. A world where I belonged." 

Dorothea's grip on Annette's hand tightened. Annette felt a trickle of heat. It built and Annette wrenched her hand away with a yelp, cradling her burned palm. 

They'd stopped among a lane of tents. These were larger, some with roofs that extended out to create a shaded outdoor area for smoking or reclining. The soldiers here wore more decoration on their colorful uniforms. Many had shawls like Petra's, including Dorothea, who had a red cloth checkered with black draped around her shoulders despite the warm day.

"Forgive me," Dorothea said. She smiled and extended her hand.

Annette hesitated. Dorothea's eyes were hard as stone, her hand a venomous trap waiting to spring.

"Come now," Dorothea said. "I apologize. I was angry, but it is an unpleasant memory. Nothing more. I am not so wild and bloodthirsty as your rabid dog."

Anger overtook her again, twisting the mask of her face. She smoothed it back down in an instant, but the rapid shift did nothing to calm Annette.

When Dorothea took her hand, Annette flinched, but there was no heat this time, no hum of magic. Even so, Annette remained silent for the rest of the walk, afraid to reignite the madness that had lit Dorothea's eyes moments ago.

They reached a large tent. Little differentiated it from the ones around it but the red banner outside the overhung entrance and the extra guards who eyed Annette as she approached. Dorothea said something to the guards that Annette couldn’t understand, then led Annette inside.

Petra sat at a table within the spacious tent, rubbing her forehead as she pondered a map of Fodlan. She did not look up until Dorothea cleared her throat. Then Petra stood, smiling and waving them both forward.

“Annette, thank you for having come,” Petra said as though she hadn’t ordered this very moment to occur. “Dorothea, you may be going.”

“Are you sure? You shouldn’t be alone with them.”

Petra put up a hand. “We will only be having some talking. It is well.”

Dorothea lingered. “I will see that their dog does not need collaring then.”

“No.”

Dorothea's face twisted with anger and Annette prepared to flinch away. "Very well," she said between gritted teeth. 

"Is there anything else?" Petra said. 

Dorothea paused, but eventually said, "No," and left the tent. 

Petra sighed once she'd gone. "I apologize. She has had too much suffering. It hurts her still." 

Annette had no idea how to respond to that, so she simply remained still. Aside from the desk where Petra stood, the tent contained a bed on a wooden frame, a few chests for Petra's belongings and a clawfoot tub. Steam curled up from the tub. Petra left the table, motioning for Annette to follow her to the tub. She skimmed her fingers through the water, nodding. 

"Still warm." She smiled at Annette. "I thought you might enjoy some washing. You have been on the road a very long time, have you not?"

"I... uh... yes, we have," Annette said. 

Petra took her wrist, encouraging her to the tub's edge. "I have had this bath drawn for you. Please. While the water is hot." 

Annette could feel her mouth hanging open, but found no words to fill it. 

"Ah, is this Dorothea?" Petra said. She traced the pink burn on Annette's hand. 

"It's not bad," Annette said. 

"Even so," Petra said. "I apologize. As I said, she has too much suffering in her. She burns yet." 

"We all do." The words slipped out before Annette could stop them, but Petra just smiled. 

"Indeed." She waved at the steaming water. "Won't you wash?" 

Annette wanted to ask why Petra was so insistent on this, why she was offering at all. But, goddess, the water looked tempting. She was so tired of smelling like sweat and fire pits and dirt.

Petra moved back to the desk. "I can not be leaving you alone here, you understand. But I will not be looking. Please."

Petra sat back down, moving her chair so her back was to Annette, and returned to the map on her desk. 

Annette couldn't resist any longer. The steam smelled sweet, like the water had been heated with flowers in it. It was clear and warm and made the dust and stink caked into Annette's clothing even more abrasive to every sense. She started stripping, checking over her shoulder as she did. Petra did not look up from her map or change her posture at all. Annette hurried out of the rest of her clothing.

A halo of dirt fanned out from Annette's foot when she dipped her toes into the tub. The water bordered on too hot, but Annette acclimated as she sank her entire leg into the tub, then climbed over the side. She sighed she slid to her neck in the water, leaning her head against the lip and closing her eyes. It could have been the first bath of her entire life. Annette could not remember the last time she'd had such a luxury. They'd mostly cleaned themselves in streams or with buckets and rags. Her head swam as the fragrant steam and hot water suffused her senses. 

When she opened her eyes, Petra was still working, her back to Annette. 

"Why are you doing this?" Annette said. 

Petra turned in her chair at the question. "You are not my enemy." 

"But..."

"You say you are not fighting for Dimitri." Petra shrugged. "You are not my foe."

"Then why are you keeping us here?"

Petra's smile was patient. "May I?" Annette nodded and she approached the tub. Petra positioned herself behind Annette and started undoing her hair. "Before I could let you go, I must first know if you speak truly. And then if you will be harming my cause." 

"What is your cause?" Annette said as Petra got her hair loose. 

"Sit up," Petra said. When Annette did, Petra used a cup to pour water over Annette's head and down her hair. "We lost much in the war. All of us." 

"Yes, but--"

"I am explaining," Petra said. "Patience." She worked something sweet smelling into Annette's hair, then poured more water on it, working her fingers through the orange locks. 

"I believed the war was won," Petra said. "I was not in Enbarr when Dimitri arrived. I was in Brigid, preparing for the new world Edelgard would be creating. But Dorothea was in the city." Her voice softened. "It must be an awful thing, watching your love perish." 

Petra's hands stopped moving and Annette tensed. 

"Dorothea has been blaming you," Petra said, quiet and tight. 

"I know," Annette said. "And... and she's right. We were all there. I know she blames Felix in particular, but he didn't fight alone. Dimitri struck the final blow, but we all helped." 

Petra withdrew her hands. Annette heard a shuffle behind her. She could hardly breathe as she waited for the anger and blame sure to come. 

Instead, she heard slow footsteps. Petra stepped to the side of the tub and crouched at the lip. Annette felt her cheeks color at the cool, piercing gaze Petra ran over her body.

"You speak truly," Petra said.

"Why are you here? Why did you come back?"

Petra dragged a finger through the water. "I returned to Brigid to announce we would be a vassal no longer. Edelgard promised me that and I was believing her. She also spoke truly. Always. But..."

"Dimitri won," Annette said. 

Petra nodded. "I told my people we would be a vassal no longer. I must speak truly to them."

"But Dimitri has no interest in making Brigid a vassal."

"Oh?" Petra said. "But he is sending troops south, no? He is ending any 'rebellion.' He is taking all of Fodlan for himself. How will he be treating Brigid now?"

"I don't know," Annette said. "But you don't need to fight him to find out. You could talk."

"Could we?" 

Annette wanted to insist that yes, of course they could, but in truth she had no idea. Felix certainly wasn't optimistic about talking to Dimitri and they'd known each other their entire lives. What hope would Petra have, then?

"What do you mean when you say Dimitri is ending a rebellion?" Annette said. 

"Ah, you do not know?" Annette shook her head and Petra continued: "A solider was killed. Dimitri is sending many troops for revenge. Is that a rebellion? I do not know. But the king treats it as such, so we all must treat it as such." 

Annette shivered. 

"The water is cooling," Petra said. "Come." She stood, offering her hands. Annette took them in a daze, letting Petra help her from the tub and wrap a towel around her. Was there really another war brewing already? What was Dimitri thinking?

"You have been running a long while," Petra said. "I will give you new clothes."

"Thank you," Annette said. "I don't understand why you're being so kind, but... Ashe and Felix..."

Petra raised an eyebrow. "You look after them."

"They're my companions," Annette said.

"Hm." 

Annette heard the doubt in that simple noise. "We need each other."

"Why do you run?" Petra said.

Annette paused, taken aback. "I... Ashe got captured in Enbarr. And then we found him and went to save him but there was this assassin from Fraldarius and--"

"Not them," Petra said. "You. Why do _you_ run, Annette?" 

"I... they didn't have a healer. I thought..."

"You look after them."

Annette glared, but Petra stepped toward her, unperturbed, and put her hands on Annette's bare, damp shoulders. 

"Wouldn't you like to be looked after instead?" Petra said. 

Annette blinked. Petra stroked Annette's wet hair away from her face, letting her finger trail down Annette's cheek. 

"Are you not tired of men needing you?" Petra said. 

"Ashe is hurt bad," Annette said. "I would never just leave him." 

"He is not alone." 

"Felix can't heal."

"He is capable enough," Petra said. Her finger found Annette's chin and tilted it upward. 

"I don't want to leave them," Annette said. 

"Finally," Petra said, "you speak truly. It is good to want. You desire their companionship. You like them."

"Yes."

"Then I hope they are better companions than they seem," Petra said. "Do not let them take without giving." 

Annette's voice had thinned to a breathy rasp, but she tried to force some indignation into it. "They wouldn't." 

Petra's smile spread to a smirk. "What I would give to watch this memory of yours." 

Annette blushed. Was it so obvious that she was thinking of the night before their capture, the night when Ashe and Felix had discovered her listening to their love making and invited her to join? 

Petra leaned close. Annette felt a shiver when Petra smelled her neck, the sweet fragrance of the soap still clinging to her skin. "I have been taking much from you. Allow me to give you something in return." 

"Why?"

"Because I desire it," Petra said. "And I believe you do as well." 

Petra drew back, studying Annette's face, searching her eyes, waiting. Annette's throat closed around any response she might have given, her stomach fluttering like butterflies taking flight. "I've never..."

"I did not ask," Petra said. "I merely asked what you want. May I give you this?" 

Petra's finger was still under Annette's chin. Annette felt the tremble in her own hands as she nodded. "Yes."

Petra smiled as though holding back laughter. Then she leaned in, kissing Annette swiftly. Annette was still recovering from the sudden kiss when Petra took her wrist and led her to the bed. 

"I must insist you discard the towel," Petra said. 

"O-oh," Annette said. She started unwrapping the towel, but couldn't quite bring herself to toss it aside. 

Petra just smiled at her, stepping forward and guiding her into a deeper kiss. Petra's tongue slipped into Annette's mouth, licking and searching. When Petra drew back, the towel fell from Annette's hands, entirely forgotten. 

Petra led Annette onto the bed, encouraging her to lay back. She climbed over Annette, sweeping her long purple hair over one shoulder. 

"Relax," Petra said. 

"But, I, uh, you don't need to do this," Annette said. "I've never been with a woman. I appreciate the bath, really." 

Petra put a finger to her lips to stop her. "I am doing as I wish. Are you doing as you wish right now?"

Annette nodded. 

"Then we are having no problem." 

Petra kissed Annette again. Her mouth wandered down Annette's neck, exploring the delicate curve leading to her collar. Annette closed her eyes against the wave of sensations. Petra was confident, bold, moving her mouth to a shoulder even as a hand wandered up Annette's body to her breast. 

Annette laid all the way back on the bed, able to protest no longer. Because Petra was right; she _did_ want this. It was new and strange and she might have been betraying all of Fodlan, or at least Dimtri, but, goddess, the assertive way Petra explored her body made Annette tremble with the desire to be conquered and consumed. 

Petra squeezed Annette's breast in her hand, adding her mouth. Her tongue teased at an erect nipple. Petra sucked and Annette yelped, arching up. 

"Too hard?" Petra said.

"No."

Petra's mouth curled, a queen surveying her conquest. A traitorous wetness spread warm and urgent between Annette's legs. 

Petra lowered her head back to Annette's breast, but her free hand moved down. Her fingers found the heat and wet building at Annette's pussy. Petra ran a hand over Annette, a rough stroke that made Annette's abdomen clench. 

Petra looked up. "Your body is eager," she said. 

Annette could not summon enough breath to reply, but Petra seemed to need no response. She moved to Annette's hips. Her thumb found Annette's clit and started making small circles while her tongue traced Annette's lips. 

She gasped. This was worlds from Ashe or Felix. Petra needed no guidance; she dove in ravenously, her tongue probing deeper while her fingers worked. Petra paused long enough to put her free finger in her mouth, then there was yet another hand on Annette. Even while her thumb rubbed and her tongue licked, Petra got a finger inside Annette. 

Annette whined at the sensation. She hadn't even realized she was missing this until Petra had her on three fronts. The feel of mouth and fingers seemed to come from everywhere now. Petra worked her finger in and out while her tongue applied just the right pressure at her clit. 

"Goddess," Annette groaned and just for a moment she did not know if she was speaking of Seiros or the woman between her legs. 

Petra added a second finger and Annette moaned. Petra's fingers started to move faster, creating a friction that ignited a fire in Annette's whole body. Annette squirmed and whimpered. Petra used her free hand to grasp Annette's hip and keep her close. 

Annette grabbed for Petra's hair. She needed something solid and firm, something to tether her to Fodlan before she floated away. 

"Petra," she gasped. "It's coming. Oh goddess." 

Petra hummed against her, pumping harder with her fingers. The geyser within Annette threatened to break. She gripped the bed as well as Petra's hair. Petra squeezed her hip, encouraging, guiding, and Annette gave in to the soft command. Her body seized, stiff and desperate for a moment as a cry climbed from her throat. Then she was quivering head to toe, her legs threatening to knock against Petra's head as she lapped up Annette's wetness before withdrawing. 

Petra wiped at her mouth with the back of a hand. Her smile was softer now as she looked down on the panting Annette. 

"Thank you," Petra said. "I had a great desire to be giving you that."

Annette tried to speak normally, but her breathing was still ragged. "Should I, um, I'm not sure I could do it like you, but..."

Petra put a hand up. "I have greatly enjoyed this."

"It just seems... unfair... after that."

Petra smiled. "You enjoyed, then?"

Annette blushed. "V...very much."

Petra laid beside her, cuddling up against Annette. "Then we are having no problem."

Annette chose to believe her, sinking into the warm, soft echoes of pleasure still trembling through her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is my first lesbian scene in like 15 chapters or whatever this is now. But I'm glad it's Petra/Annette. How's that for a rarepair? 
> 
> Also, I hate the way they wrote Petra's dialogue in the game. I don't understand why someone new to a language would speak in gerundives. I tried to rely more on word choice than verb tense to give her an "accent" in this story. Hope it worked out. 
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover)!
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	6. Immutable as Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe, Annette and Felix are free to go, but they don't end up where they expect...

Felix felt Ashe startle awake in his arms. His first instinct was to try to soothe Ashe back to sleep, but then he noticed the light trickling in between the seams of the tent. A thick fog clouded Felix's head. His body ached for more sleep after the restless night. Ashe had woken at least a dozen times, always searching for Annette, and Felix had woken with him. 

This time, Felix abandoned the fight. Ashe slipped from his arms while Felix rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes. 

"Annette," Ashe said. "Oh Annette, are you OK? Where were you? What happened?"

"I'm fine," Annette said. 

"Where did you go?" 

"It's, uh, it's a long story," Annette said. "But I have good news. We can go."

Felix suddenly felt fully awake. He shot a look up at Annette. Her hair was clean and brushed and she wore fresh clothing in the style of Brigid. A green and yellow shawl draped over a leather shirt and skirt fringed in hanging beads. 

"Petra doesn't think we're a threat," Annette said. "As long as we don't meddle in whatever she's doing, we're free to go."

Felix stood. "And just what is she doing?" 

Annette exhaled a weary sigh. "Maybe that should be none of our business, eh, Felix? Can we just go?"

"It'll be our business soon enough if she's starting another war," Felix said. 

Annette's mouth twisted into a thin, tight line. "Can we figure it out later? We're free. Let's just go."

Felix stifled other protests as they gathered what they had in the tent. It took only a few moments to get their shoes and the clothes they'd arrived in. The ever-present guard stepped aside when they moved to exit the tent. 

Felix took a deep breath as he left the tent. After being stuck in the stale space so long, he couldn't begrudge the heavy, warm air. Around them, the camp was just rousing for the morning, soldiers beginning to make their rounds. He could smell something cooking under a tarp off to the side and his stomach gurgled. 

It clenched immediately as Dorothea strode toward them. Felix's hand went to his waist, but it was as bare as it had been since their capture. 

"Good morning, darlings," Dorothea said, her smile like poison dripping off a knife. "So eager to leave us?" 

She looked right at Felix as she spoke and he carefully smothered any reaction to her obvious jabs. 

"Well," Dorothea said, "I imagine you'll be wanting your packs and weapons. The packs you shall have—fully restocked, I might add—but the weapons will have to wait until we've reached our destination."

"We?" Felix said.

"Why yes, of course," she said. "We aren't just going to let you scamper away and alert the whole kingdom. I'll be escorting you personally to a little town just over the hill there."

Felix did not at all like the idea of Dorothea escorting them anywhere, but Annette shot him a hard look and he clenched his teeth. They had to get Ashe out of here, even if it meant allowing Dorothea to lead them around. Ashe was looking too thin again, too pale, too haggard. It made Felix think of the state they'd found Ashe in when they'd rescued him; his stomach knotted around that horrifying image as though trying to squeeze it out of existence. 

Soldiers returned their packs. Felix's was indeed heavier than he remembered. Perhaps Petra really did mean to let them go free. 

They started through the camp, following Dorothea and her guards, skirting tents buzzing with activity. The soldiers eyed them. Felix glared right back, daring any of them to interfere with their exit, though Dorothea had his swords buckled around her hips.

Ashe took his hand. His smile was patient, his hand squeezing gently. Felix exhaled his frustration, resolving to speak as little as possible until this ordeal was over. 

Their path twisted as they walked between larger tents that jutted out into the walkways. Petra waited before one of them. 

"So," she said, "you are to leave." 

"Yes," Annette said. 

"Thank you for the supplies," Ashe said. 

Petra looked to Felix, waiting for him, but he refused to thank the woman who'd inflicted renewed trauma on Ashe, however kindly she'd treated her captives. They'd still been restricted and guarded and the toll on Ashe was obvious for anyone to see. 

Petra merely smiled. "I wish you a safe journey. You will be having a long road, I suspect." 

"Perhaps," Annette said. "Thank you for letting us go." 

"You are not my enemy," Petra said. 

"We could bring news to your enemies," Felix said. 

Petra quirked an eyebrow at him. "Perhaps," she said, "but I do not believe you shall." 

"Why?" he said. 

Petra shrugged, but her eyes slid to Annette for a moment. "I do not think you desire that." She stepped forward, offering a hand to Felix. He shook it, scrutinizing Petra's easy smile. She moved down the line, shaking Ashe's hand, then hugging Annette. 

_What in all the heavens did they talk about last night?_

Felix supposed he would never find out. Petra waved them on, returning to her tent. Dorothea ushered the trio on, between more sprawling tents and finally out of the camp entirely.

Felix glanced over his shoulder. Petra's war camp fanned out across his vision, tents and horses and soldiers as far as he could see. He swallowed. Petra hadn't come to Fodlan for a reunion. Whatever she planned to do with all these soldiers, it would not be peaceful. 

"Come along, dog," Dorothea said sweetly. 

Ashe tugged on Felix's hand. He turned away from the foreboding war camp and followed Dorothea and her guards onto a beaten dirt road. Lumbering weaponry left criss crossing ruts in the path. 

Gods, she really was going to start a new war in Fodlan, and with the previous one hardly over. Small wonder she didn't care if they left. In fact, Felix realized, she was probably counting on it. She wanted Dimitri to know, he suspected. She wanted to force the new king's hand and test his reaction to an obvious and brazen invasion. 

"Are you OK?" Ashe tugged on his hand to get his attention as they walked. 

Felix lowered his voice, hoping only Ashe could hear. "This is bad."

"I know," Ashe said. 

"We ought to stay far away from it," Felix said. 

Ashe nodded, but the concern in his eyes betrayed his doubt. Felix knew Ashe wanted to help, that if he thought he could stop the bloodshed he'd try, but one man couldn't blockade an entire war. Felix dared not say it aloud, but he resolved then and there to keep Ashe as far from the fighting as he could. Even if they had to dig a hole and hide in the ground while Petra and Dimitri battled, Felix wouldn't let Ashe get sucked into more fighting. 

He felt a humming within him, a quiet, rumbling song. By now, he was accustomed to the pull of the crest lurking in his blood. He pushed it down as he had plenty of times before, but if war broke out how long could he resist? It was like a beast living within him; it howled for blood, a cry that would not quiet until it was sated. 

"Hey." Ashe tugged on his hand again. 

"Sorry," Felix muttered. 

"What is it?" 

Felix didn't know how to explain, or even if he wanted to, so he merely shook his head. 

A hazy cloud steamed around them as the day warmed and the dew burned off the rolling fields. They saw a few farmhouses among the plains in the early part of the day. Gradually, these built up, spreading into small communes. The town seemed to gather out of the disparate pieces of settlement scattered across the hills, until it coalesced into a cluster of buildings surrounding an open, paved square. 

"We are nearly at our journey's end," Dorothea said. "It's so sad to part again so soon."

"Best to get it over with then," Felix said. 

Dorothea smiled over her shoulder at him. "Patience, dog." 

He clenched his teeth. 

"We'll be seeing you off properly," Dorothea said. "This town is loyal to the empire yet, but we've secured your safe passage through it. You'll have a bed and a bath before the day is over. Even a proper meal." 

"Why?" Felix said.

"Because you smell like a dog," Dorothea snapped. "But also—" her tone smoothed "—because Petra wished to show you this final kindness. Will you refuse her?"

"No," Annette said quickly. "Thank you." 

"Hm, well," Dorothea said. She spoke with her guards, who seemed to argue with her a moment. Felix saw a flash of something bright dance along her hand and the guards' tones turned submissive. They bowed their heads. 

"Come along," Dorothea said. She waved and the trio followed her, leaving the guards behind.

Dorothea led them alone into the town, Felix's swords jangling at her hips. How easily he could reach them now that she was separated from her guards... 

She turned abruptly and Felix nearly ran into her. "You need to be a good dog now," she said. "No more snapping or snarling. That just wouldn't do." She put her hand on his swords and Felix felt his whole body tense. "You'll get your toys back in time. But first you need to promise to be good."

She waited, smiling at him. 

"What?" he bit out. 

"Promise to be a good dog," Dorothea said. "I need to hear you say it." 

"Fuck yourself."

"Oh my, that's not very nice," Dorothea purred. Magic flickered along her hands. "Come now."

"Why? This is pointless," Felix said. "Let us go or don't. Enough games."

"This isn't a game, Felix." Dorothea bit down on his name. "It is deadly, deadly serious." The magic gathered into flames that curled up her arm. "Say it."

Felix spit at the ground before her feet. 

Dorothea let the fireball loose, but it did not come for Felix. It seared the grass before Ashe, causing him to yelp and jump backward. Felix released his hand, lunging forward, but a fiery hand faced him. 

"Fuck you," he spat.

"No," Dorothea said. "No." Her voice rose to a shriek. "You took everything. And I'm not even going to kill you for it, you bloodthirsty fucking animal. But you _will_ beg. And you will do it fucking _now_."

Her flames boiled before his face. The heat made sweat run down his cheeks. Felix stood his ground, glaring and grinding his teeth. 

"I didn't kill your gods damned emperor," he said. 

Dorothea shifted her hand, pointing the fireball at Ashe. "Say it, asshole." 

Felix clenched his hands, nails digging into his palms. He couldn't stop the fire, not from this distance. Even with his crest, her magic would be faster. 

"I promise." The words squeezed between his teeth.

"You promise what?"

"I promise... to be... a good dog." 

Dorothea smiled like a panther baring its fangs. But her flames extinguished. "Good boy."

She put her back to him and it took all of Felix's control not to leap at her then and there. His fists shook with unspent rage. But Dorothea merely walked away, continuing toward the town as though the moment had never happened. 

Ashe pried his hand open gently. Felix willed his jaw to loosen as Ashe stared at him, a question in his eyes. Felix just shook his head, but Ashe kept his hand as they followed Dorothea. 

To all outward appearances, the town was ordinary, unaffiliated. Homes with thatched roofs lined the dirt path. Children carried buckets of water while adults tended fields of corn and vegetables. The road spilled into a town square with a well and a tall painted pole with streamers of cloth around it, perhaps for some sort of holiday or celebration. Dorothea crossed the square to one of the few multi-story buildings. A sign outside the structure had a bed crudely painted on it. 

"You are fortunate," Dorothea said. "Enough travelers pass through here to necessitate an inn of sorts."

Felix wasn't feeling particularly fortunate just then. He prayed this was the end of her time with them. Dorothea opened the door, motioning for the trio to step inside ahead of her. 

Annette went first, but Felix gripped Ashe's hand to keep him close when he tried to follow. If this was all a trap a small common room would be a good place to spring it. They'd be closed in, stuck in a confined space, and still weaponless. Dorothea could have killed them on the road easily enough, especially with her guards present, but perhaps she was trying to appear to obey Petra's orders. An "accident" at the inn could certainly give her the opportunity she needed. 

Felix heard Annette gasp. Ashe rushed to follow her, pulling Felix along. Felix's mind quickly calculated the odds. He could use a bottle, if one was near. A chair. A table leg, if he could get one. 

But it wasn't a group of enemies Felix found inside the inn. 

He stopped short. Ashe gasped beside him. Felix felt his breath catch in his chest, like someone had shoved a stopper down his throat to block all the air. 

"Hey, guys," Sylvain Gautier said.

#

Sylvain had failed.

He didn't find Felix in the north. He heard no rumor about the man in the south. Even as he crossed mountains and rivers and plains, leading Dimitri's soldiers on a wild, desperate hunt, he saw and heard nothing that could help him. 

The battalion Dimitri had given him was becoming restless. It was a long and weary march southward and they had absolutely nothing to show for their efforts. 

Then, finally, deep in the south, they'd found the beaten and bloody remains of the defeated battalion. They'd been sent to stifle the rebellion, they said, but had gotten ambushed by soldiers from Brigid. 

"Brigid?" Sylvain said.

"Yes," the last surviving commander said. "They came from everywhere. So few of us survived."

"It's OK," Sylvain said. "We've got you now. You're safe. But where are all these soldiers from Brigid?"

The rolling plains of the south looked mostly barren to Sylvain, bleak and hot and empty. 

"Farther south. They're camped out near the road."

And that was how Sylvain found himself approaching an enemy camp with no one but Ingrid at his side. It was a desperate play, but Sylvain hoped appearing with just Ingrid might show how unthreatening they were. 

He and Ingrid crested a hill and Petra's war camp sprawled before them. Sylvain gaped, even as Ingrid issued a soft curse. 

"She's come for war," Ingrid said. 

"What is she thinking?" Sylvain said.

"I don't know," Ingrid said, "but I don't think she'll speak with us. She doesn't look like she's in the mood for a peaceful negotiation." 

"Then it's fortunate you found me, instead."

They both spun at the voice. Dorothea stood behind them, dressed like a soldier from Brigid. The shadows twisting across her face made Sylvain shiver. _What happened to her?_ A far cry from the sweet songstress he'd flirted with in school, this Dorothea was hard, cold, her eyes dark and dead. 

"Why are you here?" she said.

"We're looking for someone," Sylvain said. "We aren't here to fight."

"That's fortunate," Dorothea said, "because you'd die." 

Her voice cut through him like winter wind. He believed her. 

"You attacked kingdom soldiers," Ingrid said.

"They are invading land that is not theirs," Dorothea said. "What ought we do?"

Ingrid opened her mouth to retort, but Sylvain put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "We aren't here to talk about war and fighting. We just want to find our friends."

"Your friends?" A horrible smile curled Dorothea's mouth. "How quaint. And why do you think we could help you with that?"

"We think they're in the south," Sylvain said. "Somewhere. Maybe you've heard about them or seen them."

Dorothea crossed her arms, putting a hand under her chin. "Ah, now I remember. You were always chasing him around." 

"What?"

"I have seen your rabid dog," she said. "I have him." She pointed at the camp. "There."

Sylvain could hardly make sense of her ramblings. "You have Felix? He's here?"

"I can see you want him back," Dorothea said. "Tell me, does he desire to return?"

"No," Sylvain said.

Dorothea's smile spread. "Oh. How interesting." She gazed up, thinking a moment, then said, "Will it cause him pain?"

Sylvain did not respond, but Dorothea nodded at the look on his face.

"Yes," she said, "I believe I can return your pet to you, and aid my cause while I'm at it."

#

"Sylvain?" Ashe said.

"Hey," Sylvain said. 

Felix tensed, searching the room for more soldiers. Ingrid stood in the corner, arms folded under her chest. Dorothea blocked the door. 

Sylvain rose from the table where he sat and Felix jerked back, pulling Ashe behind him. 

"Wait, hold on," Sylvain said, putting up his hands. "We're not going to hurt you."

"You're going to take us back though," Felix said. "That's why you're here, isn't it?"

Sylvain flinched. Dorothea laughed behind him. "Oh, this _is_ amusing." 

"Felix, please," Sylvain said. 

"Why?" Felix said. "Why are doing this? You know what will happen to us. You know they tried to kill him once already. What are you thinking?" 

"I wasn't sent by Andres," Sylvain said. "I'm here because Dimitri asked me to find you. He just wants to talk, Felix. He can fix this. You don't have to run and hide forever. You can't actually want to live like this."

"It's better than living in a cage," Felix said. 

"Let Dimitri try," Sylvain said. "Please, give him a chance. We've known him forever. He's still the kid we grew up with. You can talk to him. He'll listen to you."

"Will he?" Felix was shouting now. "Was Andres with him?"

Sylvain hesitated, his eyes darting around.

"He was," Felix said. "Gods damn it, Sylvain. You're going to kill us. How can you be this stupid?"

"Please," Sylvain whimpered. 

"They threatened you too," Felix said. "That's the only reason you're here."

"Not the only reason." Sylvain dared a look up at Felix, his eyebrows curled and eyes pleading. Felix swallowed the guilt threatening to cool his anger. 

"Well," Dorothea broke in, "I'll let you boys settle things. I've done my part." 

"Her part?" Felix said. 

Sylvain blanched. "We ran into her down here. She said she knew where you were, that we could see if--"

"Damn it, Sylvain," Felix roared. He released Ashe to storm across the room. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" 

"I'm trying to help you, Felix." 

Felix grabbed Sylvain's collar, yanking him down. "Let me make this incredibly clear: You. Aren't. Helping." 

Sylvain steadied himself on Felix's shoulders. "You can't run away forever."

"Why not?"

"Come on, Felix. Be reasonable." 

Felix shook him. "Reasonable? Reasonable? You've as good as killed us with this. How do you imagine this ends, hm? We skip up to Dimitri and beg his forgiveness and go on our way? Do you actually think that can happen?"

"He's just trying to set things right," Sylvain said. "Just talk to him." 

"Tell me, how long has Andres been in his ear?" 

Sylvain's eyes skittered around. Felix shook him again, forcing him to look at him. 

"I don't know," Sylvain said. "Honestly, I don't." 

"But some time, no?"

Sylvain nodded miserably. 

"Andres is going to kill him." Felix spoke quietly now, hammering each word into Sylvain's thick skull. "Ashe won't survive a day up there. Do you understand that?"

"He's not a child, Felix."

"Even if he was the gods damned Immaculate One he couldn't fight all of Fraldarius." Felix tightened his hand, threatening to choke Sylvain in his grasp. "Do you want him to die? Are you that petty?"

Sylvain's uncertainty twisted into anger. He shoved Felix back. "How dare you? Do you really believe that?"

"I don't know," Felix said. "Here we are, aren't we? We can't leave. You're going to force us north. The blood is on your hands." 

Sylvain lunged. Felix caught him, grabbing at anything he could reach. He got a fistful of hair before Annette and Ashe pulled them apart. 

"Stop it," Annette yelled. 

"Please, calm down," Ashe said. 

"You're going to die," Felix shouted, "because of _him_." He jabbed a finger at Sylvain, who was straightening his shirt. 

"Felix."

Felix exhaled before looking to Ashe, who held him by the shoulders. "I won't let them kill you," Felix said.

"I know," Ashe said. He smiled and Felix felt his anger melting. "Sylvain isn't our enemy. Neither is Dimitri. Why don't we give them a chance?"

"You can't be serious. We can't go north. It's suicide."

"Not with Sylvain protecting us." Ashe faced the red head. "Isn't that right?"

Sylvain frowned, but nodded. "I wouldn't let them hurt any of you. I swear. Andres is just a bitter old man. Dimitri's the one who counts and he's still our friend."

"Is he?" Felix muttered. 

Ashe shot him a look, but said, "Thank you, Sylvain. To be honest, running for this long is hard. I sure could use a rest."

"Me too," Annette chimed in. 

Sylvain attempted a smile. "Yes, exactly. See? We can fix this."

"Easy for you to say," Felix grumbled.

"Easy?" Sylvain said. "Easy?" He laughed, high and hysterical. "Felix, not a gods damned minute of this has been easy. I've been so alone since you all ran off. Andres, Dimitri, my father: They're constantly on me. And I have no one. Ingrid is usually gone. You all are missing. Easy?" He laughed again, a bitter bark. "This has been ... fucking miserable."

Sylvain was looking at Felix in a way that forced Felix to study the floorboards beneath him. Ashe stepped forward, taking one of Sylvain's hands in both of his. 

"I'm so sorry, Sylvain," Ashe said. "We didn't mean to leave you alone. We had to go, though."

"I know," Sylvain said. "But you have no idea... It's chaos up there. We could set it all right if we just went back. We could all live in Gautier. I'd make sure everyone was safe. I swear."

"We'll try," Ashe said.

"What?" Felix snapped his head up. 

"Aren't you tired of this, Felix?" Ashe said. 

"Ashe, please."

"I don't think we have a choice," Ashe said. He snuck a look at Sylvain, who had the decency to look ashamed. "We may as well try to make something good out of it. Maybe we really can fix it." 

Felix looked to Annette, but it was clear he'd get no support there, either. Dorothea lingered near the door, smirking like a cat.

"None of you understand Fraldarius," he said. "None of you understand what it's like there. They'll..."

Ashe left Sylvain, moving to Felix this time. He set his hands on Felix's shoulders, looking him dead in the eyes. Even in the best of times, Felix withered under any sort of eye contact, but especially Ashe's. 

"I'm so tired, Felix," Ashe said. "Thank you for saving me, for protecting me, but I can't keep running. I'm just not as strong as you anymore."

Felix swallowed. He'd known this day was coming, but had hoped to forestall it for as long as possible. After a year of torment and two months of running, though, Ashe really did look like he was at the end of his endurance. 

Ashe put a finger under his chin, forcing him to look up. "You did so well," he said. "I'm so glad you found me. I'm so lucky. But I think it's over now." 

Felix could hardly find his voice. "They're going to hurt you."

"Maybe," Ashe said. "I trust Sylvain." 

"It's not Sylvain I'm scared of."

"I know." 

Ashe leaned forward, brushing a soft, lingering kiss across Felix's lips. When he moved back, he turned to Sylvain. "So, I heard we could take a bath here."

"Right, yeah," Sylvain said. "I'll show you."

"You boys get along now," Dorothea said. "I've done all I promised. Farewell." She gave Felix a mock salute, letting his swords drop to the floor with a thud as she left. 

And with that, the inevitability of the moment plummeted into Felix's stomach like a stone, heavy, immutable and utterly beyond his control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Sylvain. Again. Also putting a deposit on needing to apologize to you in the future. 
> 
> I'm really enjoying scheming Dorothea. Also making-Felix-beg Dorothea. But that's a fic for another time. 
> 
> The next few chapters are difficult and delicate ones so I think my pace will be a bit slower than usual for a bit.
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover)!
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	7. North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix, Ashe and Annette must now go north with Sylvain. Ashe hopes he has time to set things right before Fraldarius finds him again.

North.

Their feet pounded that single word into the foundations of Fodlan as they made their weary march. 

North.

Like a heartbeat. Like a war drum. An inescapable meter playing all around them, quivering each blade of grass, chasing the sun below the hazy horizon, ticking in the morning songs of every twittering bird and bug. 

North.

Inevitable, unthinkable, stalking them like a lion prowling between the trees. Ashe felt its hungry gaze prickling his back. When it finally struck, when those ravenous teeth sank into his neck, could he fight free? 

Felix looked determined to fight before it ever came to that. The closer they marched to Faerghus and Blaiddyd, the farther Felix retreated from Ashe, and anyone else. He remained near physically, perched at his side like a shield on Ashe's arm, prepared to lash out at anything that strayed too near. Yet when Ashe tried to reach back, to touch him in the quiet stillness of their tent, Felix apologized and gently moved his hands away. 

Thus, when Annette sought comfort, Ashe eagerly responded. If Felix noticed that they disappeared together during dinner, he did not seem to care. 

After, Ashe hid his face against her, the physical release unlocking an unexpected well of emotion. Annette held him silently, allowing him to stay there until the spell calmed. 

"I don't know if I did the right thing," Ashe admitted in the hush of the tent. 

"We didn't have any choice," Annette said. "Sylvain was going to make us go to Blaiddyd one way or another."

"But Felix is... he's gone. I'm so afraid he's going to do something rash."

"I am too." 

He pulled away to search her face, to scrabble for answers in the caring eyes of his closest friend. "What should I do?"

She smiled apologetically. "I don't know."

"I'm afraid none of us will survive at this rate," he said. "You all never should have come for me. You'd still be OK if you'd just forgotten about me."

"That isn't true," Annette said. 

"But—"

She pressed a finger against his lips. "You didn't see him back then, Ashe. Felix was a wreck. He was barely functioning. The entire kingdom army couldn't have stopped him from going to find you."

"And now I'm sending him back," Ashe said. "I'm forcing him to go back to everything he left. He must hate me."

"He doesn't hate you," Annette said. "He's scared."

She didn't need to explain further, not with those predator's teeth poised at Ashe's neck. He wanted to protest again that they hadn't had a choice, that Sylvain would have forced them north anyway, that they really couldn't keep running indefinitely; he wanted to hear her agree, absolving him of guilt. But that's when shouts spiked outside the tent.

Ashe and Annette scrambled into clothes and out of the tent. Felix faced Sylvain across a campfire, his hands balled into fists. His eyes burned hotter than the flames heating the stew staked over the fire. 

"Return my swords," Felix was saying. "Fight me yourself."

"Come on, Felix," Sylvain said. "I'm not going to fight you."

"Coward," Felix spat.

Sylvain just shook his head. "Felix. Please. Can't we talk?"

"I'm done." 

When he turned from Sylvain and stormed toward the tent, he finally noticed Ashe and Annette. He paused only a moment, eyebrows curling as though trapping some thought he dared not speak. Then Felix passed them by, stalking away through the camp. 

Sylvain watched him go, his eyes growing more distant with each of Felix's retreating footsteps. His shoulders slumped. He exhaled a sigh. Then he turned, slouching off in the opposite direction. 

Ashe hurried to catch him. Sylvain startled when Ashe touched his arm. 

"May I walk with you?" Ashe said.

Sylvain just shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere in particular."

"Sometimes it's just nice to walk," Ashe said.

Sylvain's mouth twisted with uncertainty, but he mumbled "sure" and kept walking. Ashe stayed by his side, saying nothing, simply keeping pace. Soldiers perked up as Sylvain meandered between bedrolls and cook fires. They were used to seeing him on his nightly rounds and accustomed to his frequent stops to chat or help them set up camp. 

He paused where several horses were being picketed and took up a brush. Ashe joined, helping Sylvain and the soldiers remove saddles and bits and brush down the animals as navy chased the last red streaks from the sky. By the time they finished, it was full dark and Ashe realized he had no idea how to get back to his own tent.

"I'll show you," Sylvain said. 

They started back, or in a direction Ashe could only assume was back. In the dark, the hastily erected camp was even more confounding. Bedrolls and tents studded the hillside. Quieting campfires winked red in the gloom, twinkling like stars cast to the ground. If Ashe looked far enough out, the red embers and silver stars mingled, a continuous tapestry of pinpricks in the night.

"Thanks... for the company," Sylvain said. 

"Oh, it's no problem," Ashe said. "To be honest, it's been kind of lonely lately." 

Sylvain's laugh was cut short by bitterness. "You too, huh? I thought you were special or whatever. Do you even know--" He cut himself off and Ashe heard a huff. "Whatever." 

"It isn't a contest," Ashe said. "We can both be lonely."

"Fine."

"You know, before you all found me, there were so many days when I didn't see or speak to anyone," Ashe said. "Days and weeks and months of talking to myself, of not knowing if I was speaking out loud or it was just in my head. There was no difference anymore. It was all so loud and yet so empty. Some days, I would just sit there in the dark and repeat your name over and over and over, not even sure if I was speaking but hoping someone could hear me. Maybe my voice still worked. Maybe they could hear my thoughts. I tried to scratch it into the walls. Gautier. Over and over and over."

"You like saying my name that much, maybe I should make you--" He stopped. "Sorry. Old habit."

Ashe shrugged. "The point is, I believed in you. You were pretty much the only thing worth believing in back then. And I still believe in you." 

"Why?"

The word was ragged, like a flag shredded and sheared by storms, reduced to limp tatters of cloth.

"You're our friend, aren't you?" Ashe said.

"I don't know," Sylvain muttered. He started and stopped several times, choking on half-formed sentences. 

Sylvain stopped, taking Ashe's shoulder. Ashe realized they'd nearly made it back to his tent; Annette sat outside it, watching anxiously. 

"Ashe," Sylvain said. His grip on Ashe's shoulder tightened. "I may have lied to you."

"I know."

Sylvain's mouth twitched. "You know? They why did you agree to this? What was all that 'I'm tired' business?"

"I _am_ tired," Ashe said. "So unbearably tired. I think Felix knew it, knew there'd be a day I couldn't keep up anymore. That was true. Plus, what choice did we have?" 

Guilt cast Sylvain's gaze aside.

"It's OK," Ashe said, reaching up to cover the hand on his shoulder with his own. "Really."

"I don't know what's going to happen up there," Sylvain said. "I'm so sorry. I... I wasn't completely full of shit. If I can protect everyone, I will. I really will. I just... don't know if I can."

"I'll help," Ashe said. "I mean, if I even make it up there."

"Ashe..."

"It's OK, honestly. Just tell me, will Felix be OK? Will Dimitri listen? Was that part true?"

Sylvain stuttered, taking his hand off Ashe's shoulder to fold his arms over his chest. "Felix would have to try too. It's not just Dimitri." Ashe waited and Sylvain's grimace deepened, etching some old pain into his face. "I don't know."

Ice poured into Ashe's stomach. It was worse than he feared, then. And he had no idea how long he had to fix it, how long before a knife found him in the dark, before poison slipped into his food, before Fraldarius found him one way or another. 

"I'm sorry," Sylvain said. "I don't know what to do. Dimitri... he ordered me to do this. I lied to all of them for as long as I could. I tried to protect you. But I was always facing them alone and I... I broke."

"I'm sorry."

"Fuck," Sylvain spat. "Gods damn it. You actually are. You actually are sorry." 

Sylvain ran his hands through his hair as though trying to tear it out. 

Ashe decided to try a different tactic. "You know, there was a time when people were asking me to go lead Gaspard." Sylvain looked up, his hands still locked in his hair. "I'm not a true heir, but I'm the closest they've got. The people know me. Before the war ended, there was some talk about it. I'd get letters. But it just seemed like something not worth thinking about yet."

"And?" Sylvain said. "Would you have done it?"

Ashe shrugged. "Probably. It is my home. I could have given Rowan and Fina a good life. I could have helped the people there, repaid them for my part in, well, in everything that happened with Lonato. And for some reason they seemed eager to have me." 

"That's not surprising," Sylvain said. "I'm sure they loved you."

"Some," Ashe said. "It could have been a nice life. For me. But can you imagine Felix in that scenario? Can you imagine him with that kind of life?"

Some memory shadowed Sylvain's face. "I've seen it," he said. "It's not good."

"But Dimitri is going to try to force him, isn't he?" Ashe said. "And if not Dimitri, Andres." 

Sylvain's hands fell to his sides. "There's an uncle. Somewhere. Goddess only knows at this point. The guy was helping run Fraldarius during the war but he's chosen just this moment to up and disappear, as though we needed this to be any harder." 

"Felix is the one with a crest."

"Yeah." Sylvain covered his face in his hands. "Fuck," he screamed into his palms. "Fuck." 

Ashe tugged on his wrists and found the face behind them damp and twisted with grief. 

"I just wanted to do the right thing," Sylvain said. "And I've doomed him to the same shit I've tried to run from my whole life. Maybe I was just jealous that he got away while I was still trapped."

"There's still time," Ashe said. "We can try to set this right before it's too late."

"How?" 

"I don't know," Ashe said. "Please, help me. We can figure it out."

"I have no idea how."

"Please," Ashe said. He swallowed around the lump that caught in his throat. "I probably... I don't know if I'll be able to help for very long. It has to happen now."

"He's gonna go insane," Sylvain said. 

"He's strong," Ashe said. "He'll be OK."

Sylvain was shaking his head before Ashe could even finish. "I've known him my entire life. I've never seen him like he is with you. When he thought you were dead..." Whatever haunted Sylvain sent visible shivers through him. "Gods, what have I done?"

Ashe stepped forward. Sylvain did not retreat, though he did seem to sink into himself, to become smaller before Ashe put his arms around him. After a moment, Sylvain returned the embrace, sighing against Ashe's shoulder. 

In truth, Ashe felt no better than Sylvain. He felt trapped, a blade to his neck, another at his back. Dimitri and Fraldarius to the north. Petra and Dorothea to the south. Felix retreating to where he couldn't reach him anymore. The problems piled up on every side, boulders tumbling toward him. He just hoped he had time to help Felix and Annette before he was inevitably crushed. 

He hadn't managed much this particular evening, but he'd at least gotten Sylvain to speak with him. That was something.

Sylvain pulled away, but Ashe did not get far. The moment they separated, Sylvain snatched Ashe's collar and yanked him forward. Ashe could see his clenched teeth and wasn't sure if Sylvain would hit him or kiss him next. 

"Sylvain, we still have time," Ashe said. "It's OK. I don't blame you. You had no choice."

"That's not--" Sylvain shook Ashe. "Gods damn it. That's not what-- That's not anything."

"I'm sorry," Ashe said. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't," Sylvain shouted in Ashe's face. "He doesn't look at you like he hates you. He--" 

Ashe didn't respond this time, setting a hand on the fist twisting his shirt. 

"He..." Sylvain trailed off, his anger withering to despair. 

Just then, a fist struck him.

#

Felix pounded through the camp, walking like he was trying to drive his feet through the ground. He clenched and unclenched his hands, still so horribly empty. It seemed his swords passed from one captor to the next. He would chew through mountains if it meant he could get them back at last.

How could he make Sylvain see how insane this was? How could he make him understand he was killing them all, or at the very least Ashe?

His stomach churned. He absolutely was _not_ going to allow that to happen. He'd been holding back in Petra's war camp, but if he had to fight Dimitri's entire gods damned army, he would. Let them see how long they survived against his crest. 

The thought of Dimitri and crests and the north slowed his furious pace. The sun was setting, blurring the faces of the soldiers around him. Even so, Felix knew that no small amount of the kingdom's main force came from Fraldarius. The Shield of Faerghus. It wasn't only Rodrigue who'd taken the moniker to heart. Anyone in Felix's home country would gladly fight for Dimitri. It was a matter of pride, of honor, as essential as air in Fraldarius. 

He'd seen that fact displayed plainly around him in the days he'd spent with Sylvain's troops. They recognized him. He could feel their searching eyes, could hear the thrum of the questions and accusations they bit back. Felix wasn't just a traitor; he'd shattered everything they'd ever held sacred. He had to wonder why Andres was even bothering anymore. The eyes he'd caught watching him, the eyes that watched him even now, were not kind. They didn't want him any more than he wanted to return. 

The cold gazes of the soldiers cooled his anger. Felix was forced to turn around and try to retrace his steps. Goddess, he couldn't even get properly angry. Everywhere he looked was just another problem. 

He could hear Ashe's voice ahead. Felix followed the familiar sound in the deepening dark. He owed Ashe an apology, at least. Now was as good a time as any. 

But when he approached he heard a second voice in the night: Sylvain. 

Felix found them facing each other near the tent, Sylvain's hand grasping Ashe's collar. Sylvain shook Ashe. "Gods damn it," he shouted. 

Ashe responded, but Felix couldn't hear it. His blood pounded in his ears. Sylvain yelled something. His hand was still coiled in the front of Ashe's shirt. Sylvain's face was far too close to Ashe's as he carried on raving. 

Distantly, Felix knew Annette called out to him, even tried to restrain him. Felix brushed past her. The world narrowed to a tunnel. Felix hardly felt his legs moving as he strode across the camp. Sylvain did not even know he was there when he swung. 

The punch landed squarely at the side of Sylvain's head and he reeled to the side, his grip going slack. He stumbled and tripped to the ground, but before he could recover Felix was on top of him, holding him down with one hand and raising the other to hit him again. 

Ashe caught him by the wrist. "Felix, no, please."

He strained against the hold, but only for a moment. Sylvain looked dazed beneath him and blinked several times before finding Felix. He touched the side of his head gingerly. "What the absolute _fuck_, Felix? Goddess, that fucking hurt."

Felix wrenched his wrist free and grabbed Sylvain with both hands at the front of his shirt. He leaned close, lowering his voice. "Do not touch him."

Sylvain glared up at him. "I didn't. Fucking relax." 

"I saw you."

He swatted up at Felix, trying to shove him off, but Felix had his knees planted firmly and absorbed the push. "Get off," Sylvain said.

"No. Not until you understand."

"Fuck you."

Felix let go to pull his fist back and Sylvain grabbed his wrist. They wrestled on the ground, Sylvain bucking up to try to throw Felix off him. Sylvain managed to knock Felix off balance long enough to flip them both over, but Felix just grunted and continued the momentum until they came back around, Sylvain still stuck on his back. 

Sylvain reached up and managed to get a hand on Felix's collar. He yanked, even as Felix got a hand in his hair. He pulled mercilessly and Sylvain cursed at him. Then Sylvain switched his grip, his hand closing around Felix's throat. Felix grit his teeth and choked, all the while trying to get his knee into some soft, unprotected spot on Sylvain's torso. 

Felix couldn't even remember why he was fighting. It just felt good to let it out, to direct all the hopeless frustration and struggle of the past several years at one stupid, idiotic, infuriating dumbass named Sylvain. 

"What's wrong?" Sylvain said. "You're not fighting it as much. You like this. Don't worry. I remember." 

Sylvain made a mistake then. An incalculable mistake. 

He winked.

Felix's knee found purchase. He shoved the breath from Sylvain's lungs. Felix tore Sylvain's hand away from his neck, then he pinned Sylvain to the ground by the hair and raised his fist. His crest sang, pounding out that horrible beat in his blood, making what would come next even more horrible. 

Ashe had him by the wrist.

"Please," he begged. "It was a misunderstanding. Please don't do this, Felix. He wasn't going to hit me."

"Let him," Sylvain said. "Who cares?"

But Ashe did not let go. He pulled at Felix. With his crest still loud in his ears, Felix could have broken away with a flick. It took far more effort to relent, to let his fingers uncurl, to allow his arm to relax and his grip to lighten. 

"Don't," Ashe said, before Sylvain could unleash whatever quip waited on his tongue. A bruise was forming on the side of his face just under the eye, but it didn't wipe the smarmy smirk from his lips. 

"Sylvain!"

The shout drew everyone's attention. Felix braced when he saw soldiers running toward them. It was easy to forget that this was Sylvain's battalion, Sylvain's soldiers. If they didn't despise Felix already, they surely would when they discovered him trying to beat their commander into pulp. 

The soldiers stopped short when they made out the situation before them. Ashe urged Felix back to his feet, then helped Sylvain up as well. 

"S-sir?" a soldier in a thick cloak said.

A woman beside him glared at Felix, her hand lowering to the knife at her hip.

"It's fine," Sylvain said, even as he wiped dirt off his face. His hair stood askew. Already, a bruise turned one cheek purple and threatened to swell. 

"If you need us to--" the woman started, but Sylvain just put up a hand.

"It's how we say 'Hello,'" Sylvain said with a bitter laugh. "Old friends and all that. Do you have a message?" 

"Oh, uh, yes, sir," the man in the cloak said. 

Just then, another soldier ran up, cheeks flushed, panting for breath. "Sir," he gasped. "A rider has just returned." He struggled to push words out between frantic breaths. "A force is moving toward us from the south."

"What?" The question came from every side. Sylvain, Ashe, Annette still near the tent, the other two soldiers, even Felix. 

"Dorothea," Felix said, the name falling like the executioner's axe. "She used you, Sylvain." 

"No," the female soldier said. "You must have heard wrong. They're coming from the east."

There was a beat of deadly silence as the implications struck each person in turn. Sylvain looked to Felix, their grudge dissolved even as his cheek swelled. Then, they all flew into action. 

Petra was coming. And not just Petra. Someone else hunted them as well. Someone approaching from the east.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I won't torture Sylvain forever. I have plans. 
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	8. A Meeting of Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain's forces prepare to defend against not just one but two approaching enemy forces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a tiny, tiny Ashelix gift at the end of this chapter ;)

Sylvain's face hurt. A lot. He touched the bruise blooming over his cheek. It had swollen up impressively, partially closing one eye. 

"Sir?" 

Sylvain sighed. From atop his horse, he could see the entire battalion Dimitri had entrusted him with. Soldiers scrambled among the ruins, building up crumbling fortifications using rocks, bedrolls, anything they could find. The destroyed fortress they'd discovered was a stroke of luck. Without it, they'd be even more exposed and desperate. Still, Sylvain's hopes were thin as gauze.

From the hill behind the fortress, Sylvain watched the soldiers, flecks of brighter blue against the azure stone. He spotted Felix, a quiet streak of shadow. Would he actually fight for the kingdom when it came time? With opposing forces pushing in from both the south and east, Felix would have little choice, for now at least. 

"Sir.”

He forced himself to focus on the anxious soldier at his side. "Yeah. Sorry. What is it?"

"I just wanted to update you on the enemy's movements. We believe they'll be here by midday, sir," the soldier said. 

"Which one?"

"Both."

The dread was familiar now, a weight he hardly noticed when it stacked atop his shoulders. Sylvain swung off his horse, removing a pair of swords from the saddle. The soldier called after him as he started down the hill and into the camp, but he did not slow. 

His fighters greeted him, some even saluting. He tried to smile, to project the confidence and assurance they sought ahead of the battle. They were some of the best fighters in all of Fodlan; even so, they watched Sylvain, eager for some sort of promise, some show of his capacity to lead them through this. Their expectations added to the weight hunching his back.

Finally, he found Felix, who was helping Ashe gather every arrow they could scrounge up. Annette noticed him first and put a warning hand on Felix. 

Sylvain held up the pair of swords. "Thought you might need these."

Felix narrowed his eyes in suspicion. 

"Well," Sylvain said, "do you want them or not?" 

Felix stepped past Annette. His companions shared a wary glance. An arrow dangled between Ashe's fingers, forgotten, as Felix faced Sylvain. 

Felix grabbed the swords, but Sylvain didn't let go. This was probably his last shot, yet Sylvain found his tongue heavy. 

Finally, he simply said, "I trust you."

Sylvain released the swords and Felix held them close as though afraid they'd be stolen away again any moment. 

Sylvain nearly flinched when Felix took a step toward him. He clapped a hand to Sylvain's shoulder. His lips flickered into a deeper grimace before he said, "Sorry about your eye."

"You've done worse."

"I suppose I have," Felix said. He started belting the swords around his hips. 

"Don't fucking die," Sylvain said. 

Felix responded with a "hmph" and a smirk, his swords now back in their rightful place at his side. Seeing him and Ashe and Annette, all prepared for battle, swords and bows and magic at the ready, Sylvain could have been back at Garreg Mach, back where the world had seemed so small and contained and _fine_. 

"Sir," a breathless soldier called, pulling him back to the present. 

Sylvain turned to regard the soldier.

"They're here."

#

It was hard to say how the battle began, but Felix found that was the way with most battles. Petra's forces pushed close, shuffling under a hail of arrows launched by Ashe and the rest of the archers. The other force, whoever they were, hung back, staying well away as Petra's soldiers crashed against the broken fortifications where Sylvain's battalion defended. 

"We stay together," Felix said, looking to Annette and Ashe at his sides. "No matter what."

They nodded. Felix knew it would hamper him -- Ashe and Annette could attack from range while he only had thoron to rely on for that -- but he wasn't losing either of them here. 

He tightened his grip on his sword. Ashe and Annette were still firing, trying to help push back the enemy threatening to overwhelm the battered ruins. Felix longed to help, but there was little he could do. 

Sylvain charged through the ruins on his horse, his glowing Lance of Ruin leading the way as he plowed into a group of enemies. _Idiot,_ Felix thought, watching Sylvain swing, vastly outnumbered as soldiers from Brigid closed in around him. 

Felix called forth lightning, feeling it crackle and burn down his arm as it gathered in his palm. He set the streak of thoron loose, blasting away the throng of enemies. Sylvain looked back and smiled up at Felix before raising his lance and shouting, his cry rising above the din. His troops swarmed in, charging after their reckless leader. 

Ingrid flashed overhead, swooping low, her lance slicing through enemies like a scythe clearing a field of wheat. Her golden hair streamed behind her as her wyvern climbed high, looping above the battle before stabbing back down into the fray. 

All Felix could do was wait. Here he stood, his swords finally returned, yet he merely watched as everyone else fought. 

Sylvain's forces were keeping Petra's at bay, for now, but Felix could see the cracks and fissures in the defense. And they still had no idea who that third force was or what they wanted or if they'd help or hurt. Thus, despite the itch in his hands, the ache in his chest, the loud heartbeat of his crest in his ears, Felix lingered atop a battlement at the edge of the battle, unwilling to leave Ashe and Annette just to have the whole battle turn.

Something soared overhead. At first, Felix thought it was Ingrid again. But she was off with Sylvain shoving back the main force of the enemy. 

It flew past again, a wyvern tracing circles high above the battlefield. He thought he saw a flash of pink, but it was so high up he couldn't be sure. 

The circles became smaller, the wyvern turning in a tight loop. Felix looked down and realized he, Ashe and Annette stood at the focal point. 

He grabbed his companions, disrupting Ashe's next shot, and started pulling them in a direction, any direction. They cried out in protest and confusion, but he had no time to explain. Whatever, whoever, was above them had the trio in their sights. 

Felix tugged Ashe and Annette along, trying to reach a teetering staircase so they could slip out of sight. 

Before they could reach the ground, however, the world went white. 

A tidal wave of magic crashed over the battlefield. Felix gripped his companions more tightly as his vision blurred. He tottered, off balance, feeling a shock of magic burst through him. He'd never felt a blast so powerful. The magic filled his body like water soaking through a sponge. He shuddered, but not from pain. The magic gushed through him, easing every ache and bruise and scrape and hurt, ones he'd forgotten were still there, ones he'd never realized existed.

Felix was still reeling from the magic when he felt the crackle of something new. There was a hiss, then a pop as though the air itself tore apart. And standing before them with a bored, bemused expression, was Linhardt. 

Felix heard a gasp to one side of him. He released Ashe and Annette, reaching for a sword. 

"I don't have time to explain why that's a terrible, terrible idea," Linhardt said. 

"What-- how--" Ashe stuttered. 

"Ah, ah," Linhardt said. "Didn't I just say? No time."

He grabbed Ashe and Felix by their shirts and yanked them forward. Felix reached back in the last moment to take Annette by the hand.

"Hm," Linhardt said. "It was supposed to be two. Never tried three before. Might be a little much even for me to handle." He sighed, but the edge in his voice suggested he was talking about more than just magic.

Then the atmosphere crackled, the air snapped, the world went blindingly bright. And they were gone.

#

They'd won. Or, at least, they hadn't lost.

It never really felt like winning to Ingrid. Not while picking through the bodies of fallen comrades, tending to soldiers screaming for healers, catching the gaze of someone so haunted by the experience that all the light had gone from their eyes. 

But they were alive. Even Sylvain, despite his worst intentions. And the battlements they'd defended yet stood. Petra had backed off, at least for now, and they could take a breath and recover.

Ingrid was therefore surprised when Sylvain ran to her, pulling her along by the arm and throwing her into some little closet cluttered with spare spears. His breath rasped. He had an urgent look to his eyes. 

"Right now?" she said. "Shouldn't you have better things to do than--"

"It's not that," he said. 

"Then what?" Ingrid said. "Your soldiers are hurt. They need you. We survived, but there's work to do."

"I know," Sylvain said. "But they're gone."

Her blood went cold, yet still, she asked, "Who?"

"All three of them," Sylvain said. "I've looked everywhere. I've asked a dozen lieutenants. No one knows."

"Have you... did you check among the dead?" Ingrid saw Sylvain flinch, but it was a waste of time pretending it wasn't a possibility. Ashe didn't look ready for a fight. Perhaps the other two had kept him alive, but it was just as likely they hadn't. 

"I looked," Sylvain said, his grimace carving lines around his mouth. "They would have been obvious. They weren't there."

"Perhaps they used the battle to escape."

"They wouldn't do that."

"Are you sure?" Again, she saw how her words cut him, but none of them had time for Sylvain's bruised feelings. 

He took her by the arms, his eyes as desperate as his clutching hands. "I need you to go look for them. Can your wyvern still fly?"

"She needs rest."

"Please."

Despite her best intentions, Ingrid felt her resolve crack. How did he always manage to do this to her? "We can fly. A little. I'm not scouring all of Fodlan for them."

Sylvain pulled her into a tight embrace. "Thank you, Ingrid. Thank you. I'll make it up to you. Somehow. I don't know. I'll figure out. Thank you."

She almost wished there'd been some innuendo behind his words, just so he'd sound more like himself. It had been a long time since she'd seen a glimmer of the Sylvain she'd grown up with. Part of her hoped she really did manage to find the escaped trio, just so she could give Felix the punch he so desperately deserved. 

Ingrid eased Sylvain's arms away from her. "I need to get ready to fly again. I'll do my best."

He held her still. "Am I doing the right thing?" he said. "Should I let them go? Or at least let Ashe disappear before they find him?"

Ingrid paused. She didn't want any harm to come to Ashe or Annette, or even Felix. But though she might sympathize with Felix, though she knew all too well what it was like to be pushed into marriage for political reasons, she shook her head. "Felix caused this," she said. "He should fix it."

Sylvain looked unconvinced. Ingrid gave his hands a squeeze before leaving to find her exhausted mount and begin her hunt.

#

There was a space of nothingness, a vague awareness of not-being, like the breath of fading consciousness before falling asleep. Then the air hissed and the world returned in a rush.

Felix's first inhale was a gasp. He stood on a hill, grass and open sky spreading in every direction. Ashe and Annette were still in his grasp, both looking as dazed as he felt. 

Linhardt's grip on Felix and Ashe's shirts went limp. He waved like a reed in the wind. "Three... is bit much," he said before fainting into Ashe's arms. 

Ashe lowered him to the ground. Linhardt looked even paler than usual, his lips almost blue. Annette rushed to Ashe's side and together they tried to coax the healer back to consciousness, but he did not respond. 

"What was that?" Ashe said. 

"I think he warped us," Annette said. "I never saw multiple people warp at once. I didn't even think it was possible." 

"Will he be OK?" Ashe said.

"I have no idea. I don't think my little bit of healing will do any good." 

Felix left them to fuss over Linhardt and instead scanned the landscape. He found little of interest until he turned and found the ruins where Sylvain and Petra still struggled. The battle was off in the distance now, but that offered scant comfort. Linhardt hadn't taken them very far. 

The beat of wings gusted overhead. Felix looked up and found a wyvern lowering toward them. He let his hand drift to his swords. 

The moment the beast touched the ground, Hilda leapt off its back, running to Linhardt. 

"What happened to him?" she said.

"He warped all three of us," Annette said. "I think it was too much."

"Three?" Hilda said. "Gods, it was supposed to be two and even that was a stretch. Mari, he needs help."

Marianne lowered more slowly off the wyvern, but ran to Linhardt, immediately calling up her healing magic to try to aid him as he lay unconscious in Ashe's lap. 

"Oh dear," she mused. "He pushed himself quite far. Oh, Linhardt."

"Is he alright?" Ashe said. Felix marveled that Ashe could already feel compassion for their third potential set of captors. 

"I think so," Marianne said. "He just needs rest, I suspect."

"Felix," Hilda said. "Help me get him on the wyvern."

Felix crossed his arms. "Why?"

Hilda rolled her eyes. "Don't be an ass."

"Are you here to restrain us?" Felix said. "Where will you force us off to now?"

Hilda sighed dramatically and seemed on the verge of a retort, but Marianne stood and stilled her with a hand on her arm. 

"I understand his concern," Marianne said. "If Claude's correct, they've been through an awful lot. I wouldn't want to be forced anymore either."

_Claude?_ That was not the name Felix had expected. What in all the heavens could Claude want with them?

"Fine," Hilda huffed. She scowled at Felix. "We aren't _forcing_ you to do anything or go anywhere. Honestly, you should be _thanking_ us. Poor Linhardt nearly toasted himself saving your butts from Sylvain and Petra. A little gratitude would be nice, ya know?"

"I'll be grateful when I know h—we're safe," Felix said. 

Hilda's scowl curled into a smirk and she glanced at Ashe. Felix cursed himself. How did they all know so quickly? 

"Here's the deal, your scowliness," Hilda said. "We are here to _help_ you, if you'll let us."

"How?"

"You come with us--" 

Felix flinched. 

"Let me finish!" Hilda said. "You come with us. Hear us out. Get some food. A bath. A real bed to sleep in."

"And if we want to leave?"

She shrugged. "Then fucking leave." She waved at the battle far afield. "Take your chances with that. Or don't. I'm not your mom. But can you _please_ at least help me get Linhardt onto my wyvern so he doesn't freaking die?"

Felix grumbled but complied, taking Linhardt's shoulders while Hilda took his feet. Together, they lifted the limp mage and set him atop the wyvern as gently as possible. Hilda climbed up behind him and held Linhardt against her to keep him from sliding back to the ground. 

"Now, here's what's gonna happen," Hilda said. "I'm gonna fly Linhardt back to our people. Marianne can lead you three, if you decide to follow. If not--" She shrugged and her wyvern started beating its wings, clambering into the air. 

With Hilda gone, Felix could just make out the distant din of battle. He wondered if Sylvain yet realized they were gone. Maybe he'd believe they were dead, but that was probably too much to hope for. No, Felix knew that even if Sylvain suspected they'd died, he'd search anyway.

"Well," Marianne said. "Would you care to join me?" 

"Yes," Felix said. 

Ashe and Annette both looked at him, mirroring each other's raised eyebrows. Felix struggled not to squirm under their combined gazes.

"I agree," Ashe said. 

"It does sound like our best chance," Annette said. 

"Well then," Marianne said. "Shall we?" 

She started off across the rolling fields. Felix could see nothing of note ahead of them. He wondered dismally if it was just the four of them: Marianne, Hilda, Linhardt and Claude. 

Claude. 

That name troubled him the most. Claude was supposed to be gone, off in Almyra and no longer concerned with Fodland's messes. Why was he back? What did he hope to gain? There was always an angle with Claude, always a trick or manipulation at work. 

After only a short way, Felix saw riders rumbling over the grassy hills, streaking toward them. His hand immediately went to his swords. 

"Oh my," Marianne gasped. "No, no, it's OK. He's here to help us."

Sure enough, when the horses got closer, Felix saw it was really only one rider--Claude von Reigan himself, leading three horses behind him. He was grinning by the time he clomped up to them, bringing all the horses to a stop.

"Well, looks like I'm short a mount," Claude said. "Someone will have to share. We weren't expecting an extra guest. Annette, would you like to ride with me?"

"No," Felix said. "Ashe will ride with me."

Claude's grin coiled like his raised eyebrow. "Very well. Let's get out of here before we draw too much attention, yeah?"

Felix begrudgingly got into a saddle. He wished he could just run along with the dumb beasts instead. He situated Ashe in front of him. When the horses started trotting, jostling Ashe back against him, Felix found himself hating the ride considerably less. He leaned close to Ashe's ear, trying to remember his purpose in insisting Ashe ride with him, but it was difficult with Ashe's ass and hips sliding back against him and his scent so close to Felix's lips. One flick of his tongue and he could have that sweet, familiar, warm taste in his mouth again.

Felix tightened his grip on the reins. No, there was a purpose to this. He just had to remember it somehow.

"I don't trust Claude," Felix rasped at Ashe's ear.

Apparently Ashe had been enjoying the ride as well because he startled at the sound of Felix's voice and drew in a shuddering breath. Gods, what Felix would give to have time and space to draw out each and every quivering sound Ashe's mouth could make. 

"Be on your guard," Felix said. "He wants something. He isn't helping us for free."

Ashe nodded, but Felix could detect the shift in his hips, the way he arched his back just a little so his ass slid harder against Felix with each of the horse's footfalls. It was all Felix could do to remain only half-erect. He could picture all too well what it might be like to fuck Ashe atop the damn horse right here and now. 

Sweet goddess, had they not just fled a battle? Were they not still running for their lives and potentially into the hands of a dangerous, brilliant, manipulative schemer set on using them to his own ends? And still Ashe's mere presence had the power to drive all reason from Felix's mind. 

He couldn't resist letting his tongue graze the back of Ashe's earlobe before he said, "We need to figure out what he wants. Don't trust any of his people, no matter how kind they seem."

Ashe nodded again, but Felix could feel his need in the way his back panted against Felix's chest. 

"And for the goddess' fucking sake," Felix said, "try not to drive me mad before we even get somewhere I can have you." 

Ashe laughed. It was a wonderful sound, both to hear and to feel, the sweetest song Felix knew. Ashe always laughed with perfect joy, with an utter lack of restraint. It was the music Felix would slaughter entire armies to try to preserve. 

Felix sat back, trying to calm himself before they reached whatever destination Claude had in mind. As he did, he saw the former leader of the Alliance smiling over at him. The gesture was curious, different, a look he couldn't remember seeing on Claude's face ever before. It was a true smile: Not a smirk, not a grin, not some half-mocking, amused little quirk, but an actual smile. 

For just a moment, Felix allowed himself to hope they were safe. At least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapters are gonna ramp up the Ashelix interactions. We've been doing too much plot for far too long. It's time to go back to smut. 
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover). 
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	9. The Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix, Ashe and Annette reach Claude's hideout. It's neither where nor what they expected. But that is not the only surprise they find in the underground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to fuck I had this outlined before the Abyss DLC was announced... Why's IntSys gotta do me like this?

Claude's party proved much larger than Ashe had anticipated. They reached a group of two dozen soldiers on horses, along with Hilda and Linhardt on the wyvern. Claude gave the signal and the group wheeled their mounts around, charging off to the east with Claude leading them. 

They rode for days, frequently switching horses so no single beast had to carry an extra rider for too long. At night, they collapsed, exhausted and aching. Claude urged them on with desperate speed, frequently sending riders back to ensure they weren't being followed. 

Ashe didn't fully understand Claude's anxiety until they reached the mountains and wound up a familiar path. 

The neglected monastery at Garreg Mach rose ahead of them. It looked deserted, but Claude hopped down off his horse and strode across the cobblestones with casual familiarity. Ashe, Felix and Annette followed, but as they wove between the dusty buildings where they'd once been students, Ashe still saw no sign of anyone else. He glanced back once and somehow the party they'd rode with was cut in half. 

Ashe turned back around and stopped short. Claude was gone. Somehow, the three of them were alone on the path that led from the training room to the graveyard. Ashe remembered the path fondly. Somewhere along it, a certain closet had been used for anything but its intended purpose. 

A door opened. Claude popped his head out. “You coming? Leave the horses. Someone will get them.”

The trio shared a glance before following him. The door led to a stairwell that angled steeply downward. A musty scent rose as the group descended, guided by the trickle of light from the doorway. They found a second door at the bottom.

Ashe gasped. They stood at the top of a massive room, an echoing, multi-story chamber. A statue of a goddess towered, flanked by rotting scaffolding. They had to use some of this scaffolding to venture lower, past halls lit with torches and stacks of boxes collecting dust. 

Clashing with the age of relics like the statue was the buzz of activity they discovered when they finally reached the floor. People bustled about as they would in any other city. At a glance, Ashe could pick out features from a dozen nations, including some as remote as Almyra. He caught snatches of unfamiliar languages and tensed instinctively. The monastery had never been particularly friendly to those not from Fodlan, yet no one here seemed to care. From soldiers training in a room far off at the end of the grand chamber to children chasing each other across the scaffolding to folks folding laundry on lines suspended from any convenient surface, everyone seemed to go about their tasks in harmony. 

“You did it,” Ashe said. 

Claude, Felix and Annette all turned to regard him. 

“Your dream,” Ashe said. “Your goal. You did it. You built a place where people live together.”

Claude laughed. “Far from it! For one thing, this place was here long before me. For another, we have our share of spats, and even if we didn't, we're hiding underground. Not exactly a utopia. You'd be surprised how quickly you start hankering for a little sunlight on your skin.” 

Even so, Ashe could not help but gape as Claude led them through the sprawling underground city. Frequently, passersby paused Claude to speak with him, sometimes in languages Ashe had never heard. Several waved or shouted their greetings as Claude passed. 

Ashe saw dwellings pressed into alcoves and corners and what may have once been storage rooms. Now, they were cozy with hand-knitted blankets and hearth fires and even a few hanging plants hardy enough for the lack of sunlight. Distantly, Ashe could hear water running. 

Claude took them to a room with bookshelves pressed against the walls and divided by a long table. Even without spotting the maps on the table, Ashe could tell they were in a war or strategy room. 

Claude reclined against the table, at ease even when Felix narrowed his eyes at the maps behind him. 

“Well,” Claude said. “What first, food, baths or rest?” 

“Food,” Annette said.

“Bath,” Felix said. 

“You're the tie breaker, Ashe,” Claude said. 

Ashe's legs felt shaky beneath him at the thought of dropping onto a soft, real bed even as his stomach growled. But it had never really been a choice. He knew even before he spoke that Felix would follow if Ashe insisted, reluctant to let Ashe out of his sight until he was sure this too wasn't some elaborate trap. 

Somehow, Claude perceived all this, his smile curling up one side of his mouth. “Annette, I'd be honored if you'd join me for a meal. Why don't we let those two have a minute?” 

Annette rolled her eyes.

Claude laughed. “I see you've suffered greatly.”

Annette's cheeks colored. “I wouldn't call it... suffering.” 

Claude's eyebrows shot up and he looked between the trio. It was the only time Ashe could remember Claude looking truly, deeply shocked. “Well. Perhaps I should dine alone.” 

“No,” Annette said quickly. “No, I'd like to join you, if that's alright.” 

“Of course,” Claude said. “Let me just show your... companions their bath.” 

It was Felix's turn to roll his eyes. Ashe shrugged at Annette, but she was smiling as she shook her head at him. 

Ashe and Felix followed Claude through the room to a door at the back. Here, they found a narrower passage, something more akin to an ordinary hallway. It cut and curved before releasing them into a hall with rows of doors. It reminded Ashe of the dorms above ground at the Officers Academy. Claude knocked on one of the doors. 

“Claude, that better be you. I've been--” Lorenz stopped abruptly, blinking at Ashe and Felix. “Well.” 

“We have guests,” Claude said. 

Lorenz gathered himself. “So it appears.” 

“I was hoping you might show them the baths while I find some clothes that might fit them,” Claude said. 

Lorenz's mouth twisted as though he could smell the days and weeks of filth from where he stood, but he nodded. “Very well, but afterward I must speak with you.” 

“Fantastic,” Claude said. “You can find me in my chambers entertaining Annette.”

“Annette?” 

“I'll explain it all later, I promise.” 

Claude started to leave, but Lorenz stepped fully from his room, grabbing Claude's arm. He lowered his voice, but Ashe could still hear him clearly. “You owe me better than that, Claude. I told you running off for this was foolish. They look half-dead, which does nothing to allay my concern for... for you. You risk yourself too freely. I—we—need you here.”

Claude set his hand over Lorenz's on his arm. “I know,” he said. He closed the distance between them, offering Lorenz a swift peck. “You are right to be angry with me. Hold on to it. We'll talk later. But as you said, they look half-dead and they probably feel worse. We must attend to our guests first.” 

Lorenz looked like he was chewing something over, but he released Claude. 

“Very well,” he said. He motioned for Ashe and Felix to follow as he started off down the hall. 

They emerged into another hallway, this one as tall as two men. Archways framed in iron lattices allowed a glimpse back into the main, cavernous chamber. Ashe's mind spun, all his old instincts as a thief flaring. This place had chambers inside chambers, hallways inside hallways, rooms that led to halls, halls that led to dead ends. It was a maze. Claude had chosen well. Even if someone did manage to find his underground project, they'd be hard-pressed to flush him out. 

Ashe smelled the baths before he saw them. Sweet steam, scented with flowers and minerals. Lorenz opened a door and a cloud billowed out. He ushered Ashe and Felix quickly inside. 

They stood in a chamber echoing with the drip of water and hazy with steam. A large stone pool rested in the middle. 

“The water comes from the sauna above ground,” Lorenz said. “We've managed to reroute it, though it has taken some magical assistance to keep it heated.”

“This is amazing,” Ashe said. 

Lorenz smiled, setting his hands on his hips and drawing himself up. “All are free to use the baths any time they like. There are three others adjacent to this one. It is truly a ma--”

Felix dropped to his knees, clutching his chest. His soft grunt was like a scream in Ashe's ears. 

Ashe and Lorenz instantly knelt at his side. Felix's hand was so tight on his shirt that his knuckles were going white. Ashe could practically hear his teeth grinding. Sweat ran down the side of his face past wide eyes. 

“Felix,” Ashe said. “What's wrong? What's happening?” 

Felix made a faltering groan, but seemed incapable of answering otherwise. 

“Lorenz,” Ashe said, “please, can you help him?” 

“I... I have no idea,” Lorenz said. “I have no idea what's happening to him.” 

“We have to get Annette,” Ashe said, “or any healers you might have. Please, hurry.” 

Lorenz stood to go and Ashe returned his attentions to Felix, trying to get his hair off his forehead, trying to do anything that might be comforting. 

Felix gasped, looking up at Ashe with a terror so pure it froze Ashe's hands. Felix shoved and Ashe fell back. The next instant, there was a flash of blue. Ashe put his arms up, covering his face, but still felt a trickle of lightning sear his skin like a whip. 

Just as quickly, it was gone.

Ashe lowered his arms cautiously. The room seemed dark after the burst. Felix was huddled on the ground, panting, curled over himself, but he didn't seem to be in pain anymore. 

“What in all the heavens was that?” Lorenz breathed.

Ashe crawled to Felix, placing a hand on Felix's back. He was shaking, quivering as though exhausted, but slowly his breathing steadied. 

“Felix?” Ashe said.

He finally looked up at Ashe, his face slick with sweat but no longer twisted in pain. Felix merely shook his head. 

“Shall... shall I fetch Annette?” Lorenz said.

“No,” Felix said quickly. “No, I'm fine.” He looked to Ashe, pleading.

“It's OK,” Ashe said. “I think... I think it's OK. We're just tired.” 

Lorenz's raised eyebrow spoke to how flimsy the excuse was, but he seemed far more concerned with informing Claude than Felix's well-being. He pursed his lips. “Well,” he said. “I shall leave you to it. I hope you feel... rested after your bath. Claude will leave clothing outside the door. There are towels in the bin over there.” 

Ashe nodded, hardly hearing him, just anxious to be alone with Felix. Lorenz lingered only a moment longer before muttering to himself and exiting.

In the quiet, Ashe heard Felix release a held breath. They sat together on the stone floor, sticky from sweat and steam. 

“Felix,” Ashe said. “What was that?” 

Felix's eyes were like fresh wounds when he looked at Ashe. “I don't know.” His gaze flickered down. “Your arm.” 

Ashe looked and saw a pink mark like the branches of a bare tree spread over his forearm. 

“I hurt you,” Felix said.

“It doesn't hurt,” Ashe said. “I think you missed, mostly.” 

That didn't seem to appease Felix. He cringed down, looking smaller than Ashe had ever seen him. He gripped his forehead. “I don't know what that was. It was... just all of a sudden... my crest...” 

“Maybe you're just exhausted,” Ashe said. “We've been running so long.”

Felix shook his head. “I've never lost control before. Never.” 

“You've also never had to run from two different armies and your entire dukedom before,” Ashe offered gently. 

“No,” Felix insisted. “No. I should have been able to stop it.” 

Ashe scooted closer, taking Felix's wrists in his hands, coaxing them lower. Felix looked ragged, tired, hungry; he was soaked in sweat and trembling with weakness after the outburst. And he was so, so angry. Ashe feared the way that anger was trying to turn inward, a fire hungry for the tinder of Felix's own regret and self-loathing.

“You didn't hurt me,” Ashe said. “Whatever just happened, it wasn't you. We both know it wasn't you. If you keep insisting it was your fault, we won't have any chance of discovering what actually happened. So please, help me.”

Felix sagged a little. Though he looked down at the floor, Ashe knew he'd diverted the worst of the flames for now.

Finally, Felix spoke. “It was like... it was like it just had to come out. Like it was going to burn me if it didn't come out somehow. I couldn't stop it very long.”

“And it's never been like that before?”

Felix looked up at him, desperate, pleading. “Never. Not once. I've always had control over it.” 

“I believe you,” Ashe said. It seemed to calm Felix somewhat. “We can't fix this now. Do you feel alright? We should take advantage of this bath. Then we can talk to Annette or Lorenz or any other magic-user we can find. They might be better at solving this than us.” 

Felix paused, eventually nodding, resigning himself to Ashe's suggestions. They started to undress. Ashe might have once hoped this would be a reprieve, a chance to be close after so long forced by others' hands, but the tension knotting Felix's shoulders pressed itself between them.

#

Ingrid slid off her wyvern, hitting the ground with a thud. The sounds of shouts and pounding feet were distant, muddled by the pain pulsing in her head and throughout her body. They lifted her. She felt herself scream as they carried her, as they removed the arrow, as they cleaned the wound and bandaged her and forced her to drink foul concoctions.

Finally, a cool rush of healing magic flowed through her battered body, draining the last dregs of consciousness from her mind. 

When she awoke, Sylvain sat in the tent, hunched over, his head in his hands. It was dark, so dark she might have mistaken him for someone else if she didn't recognize his shock of red hair and the deflated curl of his shoulders. 

“Sylvain,” she said.

His head jerked up. He rushed to the bedside, kneeling on the floor. 

“How are you?” he said, anxiety twisting his voice into something unfamiliar. 

“I'm OK,” she said. “I've suffered worse.”

“Don't say that. Please, don't say that.” 

“It's true.” She sat up, or tried to. He rose to help her. They managed it with grunts and whispered curses. He sat on the bed with her, cradling her hand in his. 

“What happened?” Sylvain asked. 

She looked down at their overlapping hands, trying to remember. “I was following them. I thought I was being discrete, but the hillsides are too open out that way. It's hard to miss a wyvern. They had a flier of their own. Hilda...” She shook her head, remembering the brush of the axe blade as it swept close, so very close. 

“I had to retreat,” Ingrid admitted. “But one of them got me with that arrow as I fled.” 

“Goddess, Ingrid, I never meant for you to get hurt like this.”

“I know.” 

“I'm so sorry,” Sylvain said. “I never wanted--”

“I know,” she said, squeezing the hand laid over hers. His face was as tight and contorted as his voice. She reached out, stroking his cheek, drawing his attention up to her and away from himself. “Sylvain, I chose to go. Do you really think you can _make_ me do anything?”

He laughed, a short snort, but it loosened the tension in his body somewhat. She was glad to see it. 

“Plus, it was worthwhile,” Ingrid said. “I know where they are.” 

He didn't gasp or blink or shout, but she could see how badly he wanted to, could feel it in the tightening of his hand in hers. 

“The monastery.”

Now he did react, reeling back a little. “The Officers Academy?”

“Yes,” she said. 

“But there's nothing there. It's... it's a ruin.” 

“That's where they went,” she said. “I'm sure. Unless their path was a long, elaborate ruse, but I don't think even Claude would make an army march for days and days on end just to shake us off his trail.”

“But... if they're headed to the monastery and they know that we know... they can't possibly hope to keep us out.” 

“Claude is no fool,” Ingrid said. “Frankly, he's better at this stuff than you or I. There's more going on.” 

“Like what?”

“I don't know, but there's no way he let us see where he was going without some plot in mind. At the least, he's confident enough about his defenses, about whatever he's built there, that he doesn't see us as a threat.” 

“And now Felix is there,” Sylvain said.

Ingrid nodded. “Unless Claude intends to move him.” 

“Or Felix intends to move.” 

Ingrid didn't respond to that. She knew how much that possibility--that Felix would flee, nervous or anxious or simply unwilling to rely on Claude--frightened Sylvain. He could vanish all over again, and their search would begin anew. 

She tried to change the subject to their more immediate concerns. “What happened to Petra?”

Sylvain blinked as though only just remembering the existence of the enemy who'd been harrying them ever since they reached the south. “No sign of her. An attack here or there, but it's just a couple soldiers at a time, an ambush on the side of a road. We haven't lost anyone because of it, thank the goddess.”

“Sylvain,” Ingrid said gently, “I think it's time we go back.”

“Without Felix?”

“We can't fight two armies at once,” Ingrid said. “Petra is no fool. She's regrouping, waiting. And Claude is even cleverer. We have no idea what he's planning, what's waiting for us in that monastery. We can't win right now.”

Sylvain shrank down into his shoulders. “Dimitri will be furious.” 

“Dimitri will help us,” Ingrid said, “if he truly wishes for our success.” 

That only made Sylvain wither further. He shook his head. “Three armies. It's the war all over again. I thought we were supposed to bring peace to this goddess-forsaken place. What was the point of winning if we're back where we started?” 

Ingrid had no answer, so she lifted his hand to her lips, kissing it instead. “Rest with me,” she said. “We both need it. It's a long journey back to Fhirdiad.” 

He said nothing, just climbed into the sick bed with her, curling up against her. She rested her face against his hair, draping an arm over his waist. 

“We will face Dimitri together,” she whispered into his red locks. 

He took her hand, holding it as they drifted asleep.

#

Ashe sat on the bed, running Felix's long, loose hair through his fingers. Felix was on the floor, putting his head at the right height for Ashe to comb out his hair, still damp from the bath.

Ashe loved Felix's hair, had always marveled at the almost unnatural beauty of the blue-black locks during the rare times when Felix let them loose. But today, they were a consolation, held in Ashe's hands in place of Felix himself, who'd been distant and tense since the strange flare up of his crest at the baths earlier. 

It wasn't unusual or surprising. Ashe knew well how Felix tended to curl up inside of himself when something confused him, especially if it also frightened him. And this, a complete, and apparently painful, loss of control over his crest was both of those things to the extreme. 

Ashe combed patiently, trying to coax Felix out with each stroke. He wouldn't push, doubted it would work even if he tried. He knew it was better to wait, to be present and attentive. Felix would reach out eventually, when he could, and Ashe would be there. 

But that didn't make the wait any less unpleasant. 

There was a soft tap at their door. 

“Can I come in?” Annette called.

“Yeah,” Ashe said before Felix could dispute it. 

Annette peeked around the door before stepping into the room Claude had provided for Ashe and Felix. She shut the door behind her, lingering against it. 

“I heard what happened,” she said. 

Ashe felt Felix flinch. 

“Heard what?” Felix said. 

“Stop it,” Annette said. “This is serious. Don't play dumb.” 

She pushed away from the door, settling on the bed with Ashe. Felix reluctantly joined them. 

“I doubt I have any insight Lorenz doesn't,” Annette said, “but I wanted to see you anyway. Are you OK?” 

“I'm fine,” Felix said. “I was just tired.” 

Annette rolled her eyes, turning her attention to Ashe. “What about you?”

“We're OK,” Ashe said. “Honestly. Whatever it was, it passed.”

“And what if it comes back?” Annette said. “What if it happens again? What if he actually manages to hurt someone? Or himself.” 

Felix was scowling at the sheets, plucking at them with his fingers. 

“You should go see Linhardt,” Annette said. 

Felix's gaze jerked up at that. 

“If anyone can figure this out, it's Lin,” Annette said. “We all know it. But he's in even worse shape than us after that warp. Once he's recovered, you have to go talk to him. Please, Felix.”

Felix grumbled under his breath and Annette pushed on. “I'm not saying this for your sake,” she said. “What if it happened in the middle of the night? What if you hurt Ashe and you weren't even awake to try to stop it?” 

“I...” The protest died on Felix's lips.

“Promise me you'll go see Linhardt when he's feeling better,” she said. “Please.” 

Felix's jaw clenched and unclenched, but he nodded. 

Annette let out a breath. “You know, aside from that whole--” she waved at Felix “--thing, it's been pretty nice here. Baths. Food. Peace. These people are just living their lives. It almost--” She caught herself.

“What?” Felix prodded.

“It almost makes me want to stay,” Annette said. 

The idea hung heavy between them. Ashe had to confess, the idea of staying somewhere, especially somewhere so peaceful and pleasant, was appealing. They already knew a lot of the folks living here--Hilda and Claude, Marianne and Lorenz and Linhardt. 

“It's tempting,” Ashe said, breaking the stalemate. 

“Ashe.” Felix scowled at him. 

“I can't run forever,” Ashe said.

“You've said that before,” Felix said, “but it doesn't change the fact that they're still out there looking for us. You think this will stop them? You think they've given up that easily?”

“No,” Ashe said, “but we didn't know about this place. Maybe they don't either. Maybe we can stay here long enough that they really will forget about us.”

Felix was shaking his head before Ashe even finished. “That's not going to happen.” 

Ashe didn't bother responding. It wouldn't do any good to rehash the same old argument they'd been having since they took to the road in the first place. Felix obviously felt like being even more stubborn than usual about everything today. Ashe was too exhausted to push.

“Claude has something planned,” Felix said. “He didn't take us in from the goodness of his heart.”

“How do you know?” Annette said.

“Because that's not who Claude is,” Felix said. “That's never been who he is. There's always a plan. If we sit around here playing nice we'll just end up as the pawns in his latest scheme.” 

“That seems a bit unfair,” Ashe said. “He's given us food and shelter, offered to let us live here for as long as we like.” 

“All of that can be true and he can still be scheming something,” Felix said. “Don't be fools. Claude doesn't do anything for free. He wants something from all this.” 

“What good are we to him?” Annette said.

Felix threw up his hands. “Pick your favorite. He wants crests. He wants fighters. He wants leverage over Dimitri. He wants to keep the Kingdom in disarray. As long as we're here, with him, and Dimitri and Andres are trying to find us, he has something he can use.” 

Ashe couldn't argue with Felix's logic, but he bitterly wished he could. It was just too cruel, imagining this kindness, too, came loaded with expectations and plots and subtle schemes. The thought sent a wave of exhaustion crashing over Ashe, making his head feel light for a moment. 

Felix took his hand.

“I'm sorry,” Felix said. “I know you want to believe. Both of you. I understand. I'm tired too. But the moment we let our guard down is the moment the knife finds our throats.” 

Ashe wished he could knead away that tense, ready look on Felix's face, wished he could give him reasons to end his constant vigil over their lives. He feared Felix hadn't truly rested in months, perhaps years, ever on-guard, ever searching for enemies and plots. Perhaps the flare up of his crest truly had been exhaustion, the exhaustion of standing guard unceasingly for years on end. 

“OK,” Ashe said, “we'll be careful. I'll keep my ears open. People sometimes don't really notice me, a habit I picked up as a child, I suppose. We'll look out for Claude. And we'll talk to Linhardt. But all of that has to happen later. We only just got here. We deserve a little rest.” 

“I agree,” Annette said. She set her hands over theirs. “Try to sleep tonight. It's been a long time since we've had real beds. I'll see you both in the morning. We'll be careful. We've got each other's backs.” 

“Of course,” Ashe said. Felix just nodded.

Annette smiled, leaning forward to kiss each of them on the cheek before releasing their hands and rising. “Sweet dreams,” she said. 

Ashe feared Felix's dreams would be anything but, if he managed to sleep at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It lives! We're back. Kind of. 
> 
> Apologies for the long wait. I was mired in holiday fics. And I'm also preparing 14 - yes, _FOURTEEN_ \- fics for Felix BDay Week and Ashe Week. It will be 7 new works. Chapter 1 will take place during Felix BDay Week (from Felix's POV) and chapter 2 will take place during Ashe Week (from Ashe's POV). I'm very excited for the project but it's a TON of work. So updates on this may continue to be slow until after Ashe Week (in early March). Thank you for your patience! And consider following my Twitter if you're interested in the Ashelix Weeks project. 
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	10. A Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix visits Linhardt to try to learn what's going on with his crest, but finds few answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fluff before the storm. Emotional light bondage at the back half of this chapter.

“Do it again,” Linhardt said.

Felix narrowed his eyes. “Fuck off.”

Linhardt huffed. “So dramatic. I'm serious.”

“So am I.” 

“If you won't cooperate, I can't see how I can be expected to help.” He sprawled across one of the work tables in his strange, makeshift laboratory. There was parchment beneath him, parchment tacked to the walls, parchment on the floor. Felix could make sense of none of it, nor did he care to. 

Felix folded his arms. He'd waited weeks for Linhardt to recover, weeks of fearing the strange, painful flare up of his crest might occur again, weeks of worrying it would happen when he was asleep or distracted or tired, when he couldn't control or contain it. In all that time, Claude had said nothing about it, but Felix hadn't let his guard down. He'd seen Claude watching, seen Lorenz sneering openly. They trusted him no more than he trusted them.

Yet here they all were. Underground. Surviving. An uneasy truce of former enemies. 

And Linhardt. Linhardt was the starkest enemy of all, the only member of the Empire that Felix had seen on this side of the battlelines in the entirety of the war. Claude said he'd left after Caspar died in Enbarr, listless, hopeless, surrendering to the mercy of anyone who would have him. Claude had put him to work, but what that work was, Felix feared to know. 

For the moment, it seemed to be sighing at Felix. 

“Look,” Linhardt huffed, “I didn't witness this ... thing. I have to take your word for it. So you can show me or you can tell me, but, frankly, you don't strike me as the poetic type.” 

Felix unclenched his jaw, letting his crest beat in a flash of blue. It was an easy thing, natural, like flicking his hand. 

“So?” Linhardt said. 

“That's the best I can do,” Felix grit. 

Linhardt propped himself up on one arm and shrugged. “Looks like a crest to me, but I'm no expert.”

Felix took several breaths before responding. “That is the problem,” he said. “It did that, but ... without me.” 

Linhardt's eyebrow quirked up. “It activated without you? Is that not normal?” 

“In battle, perhaps,” Felix said. “In extreme circumstances. But not ... like that.”

“Oh?” 

Felix hated the way Linhardt was watching him, hated the cat-like curl to his lips. Surely, he'd already heard the story. What was the point of this added humiliation? 

“We were in the baths,” Felix said. “There was no danger.” 

“You and Ashe, I presume.”

Felix nodded, his teeth too tightly clenched for speech. 

“Perhaps it was reacting to a different sort of excitement,” Linhardt said. 

Felix crossed the room in two long steps, yanking Linhardt up by his collar. The laconic scholar merely smiled as Felix shook him. “I made no bargain with you,” he said. “You are still my enemy.” 

“So touchy,” Linhardt said. “You haven't changed at all. Small wonder your crest flares out of control with a temper like that. I wonder, do your passions burn just as hot in the other direction? Perhaps I should inquire with Ashe.” 

Felix tightened his hand, but Linhardt merely smirked at him. 

“Oh, so scary,” Linhardt said. He lowered his voice, “I like it a little rough, if you care to test my theory.” 

Felix shoved him away, sending Linhardt toppling back, crushing papers, knocking over a bottle of ink. He did not even seem to notice the black liquid staining his papers and hands and clothing as he lay on the tabletop shrieking with laughter. Clearly, the war had damaged the scholar's mind if not his body. Felix would get no answers here. 

He turned to leave, but Linhardt called out for him.

“Oh Felix,” Linhardt said, “don't forget. Both my offers still stand.” 

He winked, tongue flicking out over his lips. 

Felix left, slamming the door behind him.

#

He arrived at the dance late and wearing the clothes he'd worked in that day, simple brown trousers and a functional tunic belted around the waist. The clothing was new, down to the soft leather boots. All thanks to Claude. If the man meant to deceive or use them, he was certainly taking his time about it.

That did not soothe Felix, of course. Despite the comfortable accommodations, the regular baths, the hearty food, the soft beds—Felix would not lower his guard around Claude von Riegan until he was positive the man had no plot or scheme in mind. He was, after all, also housing Linhardt, who seemed even worse than his younger self, somehow. That couldn't be mere charity. Linhardt was here for a purpose and, thus, Felix reasoned, so was he. 

He tried to let all that go as he wound through the tunnels of the underground. He'd become familiar enough with them these past weeks to feel comfortable navigating the stone corridors lit by torches and magic until he found the cavernous central hall. 

This evening, it was filled with music. Mages had cast tiny lights into the air. The flickers of orange and gold wafted toward the ceiling like fireflies, casting a glow over the enormous room. The broad lanes usually used for foot traffic were cleared out now, everything shoved aside to create a huge open floor. There, what seemed like every single inhabitant of this strange underground city was dancing while a cluster of musicians played from atop one of the more stable scaffoldings.

Felix scanned for Ashe, but picking him out among the chaos proved difficult. Felix felt a sinking dread settle into his stomach. These dances happened every moon, apparently, but Felix had managed to wriggle out of the first one while they were all still recovering from their long, strange journey. 

But when Ashe heard about the next one, this one, he'd been so excited. Made Felix promise he'd come. Felix could hide behind the excuse of Linhardt and his exceptionally strange sleep schedule, but only for so long. 

Now, he stood at the edge of the revelry, wishing he could melt into the shadows. 

He skirted the edges of the makeshift dance floor, dodging swaying bodies as he went. Finally, he spotted silver hair, unusual even in this place where so many cultures and peoples mixed. Ashe had Annette in his arms. Their hands were lightly clasped. They pushed apart, then swung back together, each kicking a leg out past the other before they swung back out to do it again. 

Felix watched them laughing, whirling around, sometimes stumbling for a step but hopping right back into the rhythm of the lively dance. The bright, patchwork skirt Annette wore twirled when Ashe spun her. She curled back in and he dipped her low as the song crashed to a conclusion. 

They shared a quick peck of a kiss as Annette bounced back up. Felix felt himself smiling, wondering why two people so good, so obviously happy around each other, had tolerated his sharp edges for so long. 

But when they finally noticed him, they both broke into even wider grins and hurried toward him. 

“How did it go with Linhardt?” Ashe said. 

Felix's smile withered. “He was not particularly helpful.” 

Ashe and Annette both watched him with concern. He felt a brief stab of guilt at dimming the light in their faces. It seemed he was always doing that. Out of necessity, sure. But he wondered how long they'd put up with it. 

“Did he have ideas?” Annette said. “Anything at all?”

“Not really,” Felix said. “I … do not think he is well. I wasn't able to get any useful information from him.” 

Ashe set a hand on his arm. “I'm sorry. But we'll keep trying. We'll ask around. There are other mages here, lots of them, as it turns out.” 

He was tempted to point out that they'd already been asking other mages, anyone they dared bring it up with, and had gotten nothing but confused looks. Not to mention that Linhardt was singular in his knowledge of crests. And not just here. Potentially anywhere in the world.

Felix bit it all back though. He remembered how happy his companions had been only a moment ago while dancing. He didn't want to ruin that, not after what a long, difficult road they'd traveled to get to this place. 

“It'll be OK,” Felix said. “It only happened that once. I was probably exhausted, like we thought.”

He tried to smile but Ashe and Annette looked unconvinced. 

“I interrupted your dancing,” Felix said. 

“Oh!” A pretty blush lit Annette's cheeks. “We were just messing around. I was mostly just stomping on poor Ashe's feet, to be honest.” 

“That's not true,” Ashe chimed in. “You were great.” 

“You both looked good from here,” Felix said. It wasn't hard to smile this time as they beamed at him. 

“Felix,” Annette said, “you should join me for one.” 

She held out her hand. He just blinked at it. “Me?”

“Yeah, come on, please?”

“I don't really know how to dance.”

“Well,” she said, “neither do I. As long as you don't mind your toes getting stepped on a bit, we'll be fine.” Her laugh was a sweet tinkle of bells. She wiggled her hand. “Come on. You're just being mean now, leaving a lady waiting.” 

He accepted her hand. Ashe offered him a nod and a pat on the shoulder as Annette dragged him into the fray of the dance floor. 

She was an awful dancer. Her warning about his feet was a vast understatement, he soon learned. It made him appreciate how good of a dancer Ashe must have been to keep her relatively on the beat when he'd watched them before. 

Even so, Felix found himself spending not just one song, but multiple out on the dance floor with Annette. He managed a successful turn more than once, though he had to catch her stumble after the first one. When she turned him, he ducked smoothly under her arm and came up to see her laughing. 

He was flushed and breathing harder than he expected when the music paused and everyone clapped for the players. Annette was in his arms, smiling up at him, looking happier than he'd seen her in far too long. 

He wondered all over again why she'd joined them, why she'd volunteered for such a difficult path when she could have gone anywhere else instead. He knew she and Ashe had been close when they were students, but what could he offer her? Nothing but foul tempers, lately, foul tempers she didn't deserve. If it weren't for Annette, he probably would have tried to fight Petra's entire war camp and wound up dead. 

“Hey,” he started.

But just then Claude von Riegan slapped Felix on the shoulder.

Felix and Annette broke apart, both blinking in surprise. 

“Having fun?” Claude said. He wore a smile nearly as a bright as the metal in his ear and the shiny buttons studded down his yellow and brown vest. Flowing sleeves billowed from the vest. He looked more like a rogue than a leader, yet Felix could tell the people nearest them were all sneaking glances at him when they could.

“Yeah,” Annette said. “It's great.” 

“I can't believe you got this one out on the dance floor,” Claude said.

Felix was grateful Annette didn't take the bait, merely shrugging at Claude's remark.

“Well, I'm glad to see you all in good spirits,” Claude said. He clapped Felix's shoulder. 

Felix felt his good mood evaporating. The longer Claude spoke the more sure Felix felt that his words masked some scheme. It didn't help that Lorenz stood a few paces behind him, crossing his arms over his long, flowing purple gown and scowling. 

“Do you need something?” Felix said.

“Felix,” Annette hissed.

But Claude just smiled. “Nothing at all. Just making the rounds.”

The band was starting back up, something more subdued this time. 

“Ashe says you've been to see Linhardt?” Claude said.

A frown flickered across Felix's face. “Yes.”

“I presume it didn't go as you'd hoped.”

“The man is mad,” Felix said. “Or so ragged with grief he may as well be mad. Surely you already knew that, though.”

“Linhardt has … had a difficult path.”

“We all have,” Felix snapped. “We're not all--”

He stopped himself there, but Claude raised one eyebrow slightly. “He has his good and bad days,” Claude said. “I suppose this was a bad one.” 

“Guess so.”

“Well, perhaps some other time--” Claude jabbed a finger at Felix's chest “--he can help sort you out.” 

Felix distinctly hated whatever lurked behind that choice of phrase. “I don't think so.”

Claude shrugged, all light, easy smiles again. He reached back, taking Lorenz's hand. “Ah, well. That's a shame. Don't let it ruin your evening, hm?” 

He winked before he dragged Lorenz away with him. Felix watched them until they disappeared into the crowd.

“What in the world was that?” Annette said. 

Felix didn't respond. 

Ashe joined them, his face clouding with worry as he looked between Felix and the place in the crowd where Claude and Lorenz had blended away. 

“Are you alright?” Ashe said. 

“Yes,” Felix said.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.” It was true, though he could see the doubt on both his companions' faces. Felix let out a sigh. “Truly, nothing. Annette, you heard him.” 

Ashe looked to her, but she only shrugged. “I don't know, either.” 

Around them, the people still dancing had sectioned off into couples. They swayed more slowly now, moving to a soft, lilting tune. 

“I think this is where I excuse myself,” Annette said. 

“What?” Ashe said. “Oh no, Annette. There's no need--”

She smiled at them. “Hush. Dance. Enjoy yourselves for a minute. I'm gonna go find something to drink.”

She left before either of them could protest. 

Ashe shrugged, looking almost guilty. “Well, we might as well.” 

“I'm almost as bad a dancer as her.” 

He stepped close, offering a hand. “To be honest, I really don't care.” 

Felix bit back a smile. “Fine.” 

He took Ashe's hand. Ashe put his other hand at Felix's waist, while Felix held his shoulder. Ashe eased them into a simple rhythm, little more than just swaying back and forth. 

“This counts as dancing?” Felix said.

Ashe shrugged. “It's good enough for me.” 

He changed the footwork just as Felix was settling into the simplest version of the dance. 

“Where did you learn this?” Felix said.

“Around. School, mostly. You know people did things other than study and train, right?”

“I didn't.”

“Fair,” Ashe said. “But the rest of us did. Sylvain liked getting everyone together. I'm surprised he never managed to drag you along.”

“He tried,” Felix grumbled. He didn't want to think about Sylvain. That made him think about war. About the battles waiting above this hidden sanctuary, the battles they'd barely and recently escaped.

“Sorry,” Ashe said. “I killed the mood.” 

“The mood?” 

Ashe smirked at him. “It's supposed to be romantic. The dancing. The lights. The not being someone's prisoner.” 

“I'm not very good at … that sort of thing.” 

“I disagree,” Ashe said. He nudged Felix closer. “Rescuing me from certain death. Kicking down that door. Carrying me away. I found it pretty romantic.” 

Felix could find little joy in the memory.

“I keep making you more upset with each word,” Ashe said.

“Not upset,” Felix said. “It's just not a very happy memory. Aside from getting you back.” He shivered, remembering how fragile Ashe had looked when they'd rescued him all those months ago. 

“Let's leave,” Ashe said. 

“I thought you wanted to dance.”

“I did. But … now I want to leave. If you want to.” 

“Very much.” 

Ashe smirked, stepping back, taking Felix's hand so he could lead him off the dance floor. 

Ashe pulled him away from the party, into the welcome quiet of the abandoned halls. Felix’s ears rang in the hush that descended as the sounds of revelry faded.

The moment they got to their room, he spun Ashe around, pressing him back against the door. Ashe laughed against his mouth, returning Felix’s kiss.

They broke for air and Ashe stroked Felix’s cheeks with his thumbs.

“What’s so funny?” Felix said, tugging Ashe’s hips against his.

“Nothing,” Ashe said. “I just haven’t seen you like this in so long.”

“Like what?”

“Just ... happy. Relaxed. Not fighting something.”

Felix felt a pang at that. He promised in that moment that Ashe wouldn’t have to wait so long ever again, that even if dark times found them again, Felix would find a way out, a way to see this look of joy and contentment on Ashe’s face. A way to make that look permanent.

For now, he settled for kissing Ashe, more softly this time, in less of a rush now that the moment felt rare and tenuous. Tomorrow or the next day or the next month Dimitri or Petra or someone else entirely could show up with an army and shatter it all beyond repair.

But not tonight. They would have tonight, and Felix intended to make the most of that.

Apparently Ashe had his own ideas.

“Hey,” he said, even as Felix pulled him toward the bed, even as they fell atop it, Ashe straddling Felix, gnawing at his lip as he looked down at him.

“Hm?” Felix said. He was already working at the laces of Ashe’s pants.

“I want to try something. But it ... it might sound weird at first.”

Felix paused, looking up at the man crouched over him.

Ashe could hardly meet his gaze. “I ... I want you to ... well, to tie me up. A little.”

Felix sat up, shifting Ashe in his lap.

Ashe still wasn’t looking at him. “I know it sounds weird. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. At first I thought I must be going crazy, but I ... I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

Felix used a finger to turn Ashe’s face toward him. “Are you sure? With everything you’ve been through...”

“I know.” Ashe was blushing, squirming. “I know how it sounds. I just can’t get it out of my mind. I think ... if it was you ... it would be sexy instead of scary and maybe, well, maybe some part of me really needs that.”

Felix hesitated, watching Ashe, wishing he could read faces as easily as he could read battlefields. Ashe had spent a year being someone's captive, only to return to Fodlan and be captured again. Felix had never pushed for the details of that horrible time, but what Ashe had offered on his own certainly included being restrained, bound up and sometimes blindfolded and gagged, left alone in interminable darkness with little ability to move.

“Well, say something.” Ashe was flushed bright red, his gaze wavering.

“If that’s something you really want.”

Ashe clenched his jaw, nodding. “It is. I’m sure.”

“You know you can say stop at any time.”

“I know.”

“If you start to feel ... weird or anything...”

“Felix, I know.” Ashe smiled at him. “That’s why it’s you I’m asking. I trust you.”

Felix swallowed at that. He wondered, not for the first time, how someone like Ashe had endured him for so long, had persevered despite Felix’s every attempt to push him away and chase him off. If Ashe really wanted this, if he really believed it would make him feel good, Felix would oblige. “OK. Do we have, uh, what we’d need?”

Ashe’s blush returned in force. “Hilda knew how find ... supplies.”

Ashe hopped off him, and the bed, going to the chest set against the wall. Felix has assumed nothing but their meager belongings (mostly their travel packs and bed rolls) were in that chest. But Ashe returned holding strips of blue silk. He presented them to Felix.

“Hilda suggested we start with these,” Ashe said. “They’re soft.”

Felix took the strips. Some were longer than others, so long they could wrap all the way around the bed and then some.

Felix glanced at the bed posts. A smirk tugged at his mouth.

“Come here,” he said.

Ashe eagerly scooted closer. Felix drew him into a kiss, longer and hungrier than the previous ones. Now that he had ideas, this wild plot was starting to sound exciting.

Ashe whimpered as Felix tossed him around and onto his back. Felix straddled him, guiding his arms above his head even as he kept pining him down by the mouth.

When he broke away, Ashe was panting beneath him.

“Stay just like that,” Felix said.

Ashe nodded, lips parted, cheeks flushed. He really was eager for this. That in itself had Felix straining against his trousers.

He hurried to one side of the bed, tying the silk first around Ashe’s wrist and then around the bedpost. Then he did the same with the other arm. Ashe lay splayed on the bed, writhing in the restraints that had his arms spread wide.

Felix climbed back over Ashe, running his hand along his face. “Still OK?”

Ashe nodded enthusiastically. “More.”

“I think this is enough for this time.” Felix snuck his hands up Ashe’s shirt. “Besides, you’ve still got all these clothes that I need to take care of.”

His mouth followed his hands as Felix trailed kisses up Ashe’s torso. When he reached a nipple, he swirled his tongue around it, sucking and earning a gasp for his efforts. Ashe arched up against him and Felix lifted his head. He found Ashe watching him, eyes lidded, mouth gasping. The goddess herself had never produced a more lovely sight. 

Felix unlaced Ashe's pants, tugging them and everything under them down to expose Ashe. He paused only long enough to toss everything aside, then nudged Ashe's knees apart, running his hands up Ashe's thighs. He paused over Ashe, looking down at his weeping cock. It trembled even as Felix watched.

Felix's lips coiled around a smirk. Ashe squirmed, shimmying his hips as he waited in agony for Felix. 

Finally, Felix lowered his head, licking languorously up Ashe's cock, almost lazily, pausing before taking the head in his mouth. 

Ashe sighed, arching up. The bedposts groaned as Ashe tugged at his silk restraints. 

“Oh, Felix, please,” Ashe whined. 

Felix had meant to take this slowly, to savor every moment, check in with Ashe along the way. But that pathetic, yearning whimper broke his resolve. 

He dove down Ashe's cock, running his lips down Ashe's length, taking him completely into his mouth. Ashe's moan was long and throaty, followed up by breathy gasps as Felix continued. 

Felix held Ashe's hips as he ran up and down his cock, slow and steady at first, despite his hunger, despite the things Ashe's voice alone was doing to him. Ashe's thighs squeezed against his head as Felix dipped all the way down, getting Ashe's cock as deep as he could. They eased only slightly as Felix came back up, licking at the head. 

Ashe bucked. The bedposts creaked. Felix glanced up and saw Ashe's hands clenched into fists as he strained against the silk around his wrists. 

He caught Felix looking and rasped, “Felix, fuck me.” 

Felix needed no further encouragement. He scrambled off the bed and for the oil they kept beneath it. When he returned, Ashe was grinding his hips in slow circles as though still reliving the sensation of Felix's mouth on him. He chewed at his lip, green eyes tracing Felix's every movement as he lubricated his fingers. 

Felix rubbed at Ashe's rim, prodding at the tight muscle, nudging at Ashe's entrance. As he did, he watched Ashe's face, searching for any sign of fear or reluctance; he saw only a rapturous flush. 

Even so, he said, “Good?” 

“So good,” Ashe said. “Fuck, so good.” 

Felix smiled at his partner's eagerness, kissing him swiftly before concentrating his efforts lower and nudging a finger inside. Ashe seemed more than prepared for him. Felix soon had multiple fingers in, pressing against the tight muscle, easing Ashe open. Ashe writhed his hips in time with Felix's fingers, his body swelling. Felix almost didn't want to stop; he could have remained where he was, working Ashe from this perfect vantage point where he could watch every roll and shiver. 

But his own cock was pressing urgently against him, begging for attention. Felix removed his fingers and used more lube to slick up his cock before pressing it against Ashe. Ashe shifted his hips, nudging against Felix, urging him inside. 

Felix obliged, sliding in slowly. As he did, Ashe arched. His lean, toned arms were nothing but corded muscle as he yanked on the ties attaching him to the bedposts. Felix was sure those unlucky posts were going to snap, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Ashe was tight around him, almost pulsing. He hooked his ankles behind Felix's back as Felix started rolling into him. With his arms overhead, Ashe's whole body looked even more leanly muscled than usual. Each gasp made his chest swell. Felix bent to meet it, sucking at a hard nipple. Ashe yelped, his legs gripping tighter, pulling Felix down against him. 

Felix's mouth left Ashe's chest with a wet pop. He held Ashe by the hip as he started thrusting in earnest, swaying into Ashe in steady strokes. The bed and Ashe both gave hearty groans as Felix buried himself to the hilt, then pulled back out to do it again. 

“Oh, goddess,” Ashe moaned. “Right there. Felix, just like that.” 

Felix trembled to hear his name spill from Ashe's mouth so sweetly. His hips rocked faster as he plunged into Ashe at his behest. 

Felix soon lost himself, hunching forward, clutching at Ashe's hip to gain purchase for his thrusts. He could hear Ashe beneath him, but could no longer see him, lost in the euphoria of the moment. His own voice joined Ashe's, lower and quieter, but just as breathless with want. 

“Ashe,” he rasped. It was all he could manage, but also all he needed to. That single syllable was enough to carry all his want, all his need, all the beauty of this blinding, overwhelming moment, the heat and pressure pressing them together like flakes of metal fusing in a forge.

Ashe's ankles bounced against Felix's back. Ashe clenched around Felix and Felix choked, shoved toward the edge. 

“Fuck,” he spat as his body went rigid. 

Ashe arched as Felix filled him, continuing to rock his hips all through Felix's release. 

Felix groped for Ashe's cock. Even with his forehead against Ashe now, he pumped at Ashe's cock, continuing to press into him until Ashe cried out and bucked. Cum hit Felix's chest and neck, even his face, but he didn't care. He lay in Ashe's warmth, in the comfort of their intertwined bodies, and let the echoes of their passion reverberate through him like a warm tide.

He heard a sniffle. 

Felix jerked up, suddenly as alert as he'd be mid-battle. Ashe was crying, large tears slipping down his cheeks. 

Felix eased himself out of Ashe as quickly as he dared, scrambling to untie the silks. But Ashe just left his arms above his head. 

“Ashe,” he said, wiping the tears from his cheeks, coaxing his eyes open. “Ashe, I'm so sorry. I thought--”

“No,” Ashe said. He smiled through the tears. “I'm not sad.” 

“But--”

He reached up, stroking at Felix's face. “You have cum all over you,” he said with a laugh. 

“I don't care,” Felix said. “Are you OK?”

“I'm good, Felix. Please, get a towel or something.”

Felix hesitated before sliding off the bed, cleaning himself up hastily. Ashe sat up to accept the towel and clean up a bit as well. 

Felix couldn't wait any longer. The moment Ashe set the towel aside, he said, “Ashe, please, tell me what I did.” 

Ashe took his hand, facing him on the bed. “Nothing. I mean, a lot, but nothing bad. That was ... incredible.”

“But you...”

“It's relief,” Ashe said. He seemed to gather himself. “To be able to do that, to be able to feel good, and safe, and do that … it was amazing. And not just physically.” 

Felix didn't understand, but Ashe genuinely looked so happy, so content, that he didn't argue. 

“Sometimes, you have to make new memories to cover up the bad ones,” Ashe said. 

Felix swallowed. New memories. New memories of being tied up, of being restrained. But these ones happy, pleasurable, safe. He could understand that, somewhat, but the idea of it, the necessity of it, still horrified him. 

He ran a finger along Ashe's damp cheek. “We'll make good memories. So many there will be no room for bad ones.” 

Ashe smiled, placing his hand over Felix's. “I know. That's why I asked that we do this. And it was even more incredible than I was imagining.” 

He leaned forward, kissing Felix long and deep, loitering against his lips. Ashe's eyes glistened with fresh tears when he pulled away, but Felix was less alarmed this time. “I love you, Felix. So much.” 

Felix swallowed around the lump in his throat. His jaw felt glued shut. “I … No one will ever hurt you again. I swear.” 

It wasn't what he was supposed to say, what he should have said, but Ashe nodded in understanding.

“I know,” Ashe said. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a trauma expert or anything, but I know real people who have taken this kind of approach to their own trauma and I thought it was really sweet and kinda nice to work through it in that kind of way. Anyways, it's just supposed to be some nice fluff because it's all downhill from here to the end. These peaceful times are about to fall apart... 
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!
> 
> Join the [Ashelix discord](https://discord.gg/cjFuCx) to hear my incoherent screeching about my beloved rarepair! (Ask me for link if it's expired!)


	11. Gripping the Reins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have been peaceful. But suddenly Claude calls all his closest advisers - as well as Ashe, Felix and Annette - to the strategy room.

Ashe diced up the carrot, sliding the uniformly chopped slices to the side before starting on the next one. 

He'd always found kitchen duty soothing, whether it had been with his parents when he was young, with Dedue in Garreg Mach, or even now with Annette in this strange underground city of Claude's. It was strange to feel so at-peace here, but between the repetitive motions of cooking, the safety and security he and his companions had enjoyed recently, and the amount of time and space he and Felix finally had for each other—it was getting pretty tough not to feel content. Happy, even. 

He'd been happy when Felix rescued him. Happy when he'd healed. Happy when he'd lived on the move with Felix and Annette. But that was a different sort of happiness, rough at the edges, thrumming with the constant threat of violence and hunger. 

This was … solid.

Claude's underground kingdom ran efficiently, smoothly. Everyone had a job, but everyone also had enough. Most days, Ashe woke up, worked in the kitchen or at the makeshift range training archers, then got the rest of the day to himself. He explored with Annette, searching for passages they hadn't yet found in this massive underground complex. Or he went aboveground to help Marianne with some foraging. Or he simply lay in the room he shared with Felix, reading and enjoying the companionable silence with his partner. 

Ashe knew Felix expected it to end any day, any second, but for now, at least, it was a good life, the kind of life Ashe hadn't dared to dream about in many years.

A yelp broke the peace. Annette was sucking on a finger, her knife abandoned amid the jagged, uneven cuts on her cucumber. 

Ashe set his knife aside. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, still sucking on her finger.

“Let me see.”

She popped the finger out of her mouth. Ashe took her hand, examining the cut. Fresh blood immediately welled up. 

“It's bloody but not bad, I think,” he said. He led her away from where they'd been cutting vegetables, to two chairs at the back of the kitchen. He left her sitting there a moment while he found water and a clean cloth to bandage the wound with. Any decent kitchen had simple supplies like these for cuts or accidents, and Claude's kitchens were well more than decent. 

Not only were they fully stocked—with some of the finest knives and cutting boards and kitchen tools Ashe had ever seen, no less—but they were meticulously clean and ruthlessly organized. Every other day those foraging aboveground restocked the pantries; Ashe had yet to experience even the slightest lack while on kitchen duty. 

He returned to where Annette sat cradling her hand. Ashe cleaned out the cut first with a bit of water, then started to wrap it to contain the bleeding. 

“I taught you that song,” Annette said.

Ashe blinked. He hadn't realized he'd been humming until she spoke. 

“When we were students,” she continued. “We had to muck the horse stalls and you caught me singing and asked me to teach you the tune.” 

He smiled. “I remember. From that day on, I always hoped Byleth paired us up for chores.” 

She smiled, but she was watching his hands while he worked. Ashe finished with the little bandage around her finger, but kept holding her hand.

“Is something wrong?” he said.

She shrugged.

He squeezed her hand. She still wasn't looking at him. “What is it, Annie?” 

The nickname seemed to break her. She looked up, eyes shining. “Oh, Ashe, I'm sorry. I just … I keep worrying.”

“Why?” He took both her hands in his. “Did something happen?”

“No, I'm just … I'm just afraid it will.”

“I don't understand,” Ashe said. “What's going to happen?” He knew the million dire possibilities constantly running through Felix's mind. They were obvious enough: Dimitri, Andres, Petra, war, being found, being taken away from this place, whatever was going on with his crest. But those were distinctly _Felix_ kinds of concerns. 

When Annette finally spoke, it was quieter than Ashe had ever heard her. “I'm afraid you're going to leave.”

He scooted to the edge of the chair, his knees nearly touching hers as he leaned close. “Annie...”

“It's just,” she faltered. “You and Felix. It just feels like you could disappear any moment. If...” She glanced away. “I'm sorry, but, you know, if Felix … decided you needed to go...”

“You think we'd do that?”

She nodded. “I wake up every morning just praying you're still here. That you haven't … left me.”

Ashe scooted as close as he could, getting on the floor to kneel before her and force her to meet his eyes. She looked on the verge of tears. 

“Annette, we're not going to do that,” he said.

“_You're_ not going to do that,” she muttered. 

“Felix won't either,” Ashe said. She looked unconvinced, though, and he rubbed circles on her hands with his thumbs. “You could have left so many times. We should be the ones worried about losing _you._”

A hint of a smile tugged at her mouth. 

“Why have you stayed so long?” Ashe said. “You could go anywhere. You could have left this place, even. Found somewhere better. You don't need to live like this.”

“Where would I go instead?” she said.

“Anywhere.”

She shook her head. “The whole continent is going crazy again. You really think I'm going to leave your side now? I'm not trusting you two out there alone.”

She bent down to kiss him, brief and sweet. 

“Annette,” he said, “you don't need to do this. You don't need to carry all this. I don't want you to … to feel like you're wasting your time.”

“You dumb idiot,” she said, leaning down for another kiss. She was soft and gentle, almost timid. That made it all the sweeter, all the more precious.

Maybe it was the weeks and weeks of relative peace, or just the threat of her leaving, but Ashe moved his hands up her thighs. She laughed against his mouth. 

“Felix not keeping you busy enough?” she said.

Ashe felt heat rise in his face. “I-it's not—”

She laughed. “I'm joking. You're cute when you're flustered.”

“I just...” He looked down. “I kinda miss you.”

“Miss me?”

“When we were traveling, I dunno, I just saw you every day. You were always there. And now, sometimes I don't see you for a few days even. And … I just kinda miss you. You're afraid of me leaving, but—” He looked up, fixing her with those bright green eyes of his. “I could never do that. I'd miss you too much.” 

A shimmer sprang to her eyes. She cupped his face in her hands, drawing him back up to her mouth and kissing him softly. “I miss you, too, Ashe.” 

His fingers itched to creep higher under her skirt, but just then they heard a voice calling for them in the other room. 

“Shit,” Annette hissed.

They both scrambled back to their feet, smoothing rumpled clothing as they hurried out of the back room and into the kitchen. Lorenz stood there tapping his foot, scowling at their half-finished work. 

“Honestly,” he muttered. 

“Annette … she got a cut,” Ashe tried. 

Lorenz rolled his eyes. “If you're quite finished—” he leveled a heavy look at both of them “—there is important business to attend to. Claude has summoned everyone. Including, for some reason, you two. And your—” He grimaced as though tasting something foul. “Your _companion._”

Ashe and Annette shared a glance. “Summoned us?” Ashe said. “For what?” For a moment, he feared all of Felix's darkest fears were coming true, that this was the trap Claude had been waiting to spring since the moment they'd arrived.

“There is news,” Lorenz said. “Claude will explain, but you must come.”

He spun on his heel and left. Ashe and Annette were left with little choice but to follow, rushing after Lorenz as he swept through the halls of the underground. 

When they got to the strategy room, the room they'd seen their first day here, it was more full than Ashe had ever witnessed it. Claude sat at the head of the long table. Marianne and Hilda sat to one side, Linhardt and a couple men Ashe didn't recognize to the other side. Lorenz took one of the remaining seats. 

Felix stood. He shot a sharp glance toward Ashe when he and Annette entered the room. Ashe could see the suspicion in his eyes, the betrayal. He looked tense, poised, like he'd spring away at the slightest provocation. 

“Please sit. You're making me anxious,” Claude said. He wore an easy smile, but the people gathered around him glared toward the trio in the doorway. “Don't make me beg. Come on. Sit.”

Ashe complied, waving for Annette and Felix to follow him. The trio settled at the far end of the table from Claude. 

“Great,” Claude said. He rested his chin on his hand. “That just leaves one more person. But a rather important person, at that.”

“What is this about?” Felix said. 

Claude wagged a finger. “Patience, if you please.” 

Silence washed over the room, a silence as tight as a skin stretched for tanning. Ashe could feel how tense Felix was beside him. He snuck a hand over to Felix's leg. Felix was clutching his pants so tightly he might tear them. Ashe wriggled his fingers between Felix's, trying to coax his grip into loosening.

Finally, the door opened again. Ashe swiveled in his chair to observe the new arrival. 

Claude stood. “Cyril, welcome back. I'm told you bring news.” 

Cyril paused in the doorway. He was still geared up as though for battle, a sword on his hip and a bag slung across his chest. He bowed toward Claude. “I'm afraid it's the news we've feared.”

Claude resumed his seat. He nodded. “Yes, I've heard. But, please, inform our guests.”

Cyril noticed Felix, Ashe and Annette for the first time. He visibly startled, mouth opening around words he never found. 

“It's nice to see you again,” Ashe said. 

Cyril blinked, rushing forward. He threw his arms around Ashe. “Gods, Ashe. I'm so glad you're alive.”

Ashe flinched. His whole body went hot and cold, nauseous and frozen and dizzy all at once. He heard Felix rise, move Cyril away. 

Cyril looked between them, confused. “I-I'm sorry. Did I—”

“No,” Ashe said quickly. “No, everything's fine.” 

He stood. Felix looked like he was prepared for a fight, but Ashe put a hand on his chest. He reached his other hand out for Cyril, who took it gingerly. 

“A lot has happened since the academy,” Ashe said. “We'll talk.”

Cyril still looked confused, but now it was tinged with sadness. “OK.” 

Ashe looked to Felix. “Let's just continue.” 

“Are you OK?” Felix said quietly. Ashe gave him a little nod and they sat back down. 

“Now that the introductions are over,” Claude said, “shall we?”

Cyril cleared his throat, glancing toward Felix and Ashe. He claimed an empty seat at the table. “Uh, yes,” he said. “Yeah. Sorry. The news. I'm afraid it's as we feared.” He turned his gaze to Claude. “Dimitri is marching.” 

The confusing rush of emotion Ashe had felt when Cyril hugged him was replaced with just one thing now: Cold dread. It seeped through him like ice slowly freezing a lake. 

“How many?” Claude said. His chin was still on his hand. He might have been inquiring about the weather.

“I couldn't get very close,” Cyril said, “but it was quite a substantial force. I'd say … in the thousands.”

Someone at the table gasped. Several sat up straighter. Annette grasped Ashe's hand under the table. 

“Well, the king makes his move at last,” Claude said. 

“What do you mean 'at last?'” Felix said. 

Claude merely smiled. “Cyril, anything you can tell us? The number of fliers and mages? Siege weapons? Things of that sort?”

“Ah, yes.” Cyril reached into his bag and retrieved several crumpled papers. He smoothed them out on the table, then started leafing through them. “I counted at least two battalions of winged units,” he began. 

Ashe stopped listening. The particulars only made the reality seem more grim by the moment. This wasn't Petra and a scattered force from Brigid. It wasn't Sylvain and a ragtag battalion only meant to retrieve Felix and march back north. This was Dimitri. King Dimitri. And all the forces he could marshal.

“Well,” Claude said when Cyril finished. “That's something.”

“Something?” Felix said between gritted teeth. 

“Do you have something to add, Fraldarius?”

Felix slammed a hand down on the table. “Are you mad? Are you honestly fucking mad?”

“Not yet, I don't believe.”

“Then why aren't you preparing?”

“I have been,” Claude said. “For quite some time.” 

Realization dawned slowly. Ashe shivered. He searched the rest of the table. Linhardt was smirking. Hilda rolled her eyes. Marianne looked away when he tried to meet her gaze. 

“Ah, I figured you knew by now,” Claude said.

Hilda started laughing behind her hand. “Did you really think we were just being nice?” 

Ashe saw a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. He grabbed for Felix as the swordsman tried to stand and lunge for Claude. It only barely kept Felix sitting. 

“Oh, don't look at me like that,” Claude said. “You've been suspicious since the moment Linhardt warped you out of that battle. Aren't you happy to find out you were right?”

“What do you want?” Felix said.

“Exactly what I'm getting,” Claude said. “Dimitri.” 

“Why?” Annette said. “Why would you want this? Do you have any idea how much time we've spent running just to avoid specifically _this_?”

“Sure do,” Claude said. “But I think I have a better idea. And it might not be such a bad deal for you all, either.” 

“How?” Annette said.

“We're gonna put down your boar,” Hilda said with a grin as sharp as her great axe.

“It's time for this to end,” Claude said. “You were just bait. Obviously, I might add. But it worked nonetheless. Dimitri knows where you are. He wants you back. Moreover, we insulted him and left his forces in a _pretty_ tough spot during that battle with Petra. He's got every reason to march here. But we'll be ready. We were ready even before you three arrived.”

“But what's the point?” Ashe said. “Why bring this on yourself?”

Claude smiled, genuinely this time. “The war never ended. You know that better than most of us, Ashe. Aren't you ready for it to be over?”

“Yes, but...”

“It can't end until Dimitri goes down,” Hilda said. “You know we're right.”

“He treats all of Fodlan like it is his Kingdom,” Claude said. “That's not sustainable. It never was. There were rebellions brewing in the south the moment he claimed the continent as his own. People scattered around Fodlan with their own cultures, histories and desires aren't going to consent to the most recent conqueror just because he won the war. To say nothing of the folks who aren't even on the continent. I believe you're familiar with Brigid's feelings on the matter.” 

What Claude said made perfect sense, but none of it made Ashe feel any better. 

“All that being said,” Claude continued, “you are free.”

“Free?” Felix said. “How the fuck are we free?”

Claude waved his hand in a way that encompassed all of the underground. “I am not keeping you here. You've more than played your part for me. And if you had wanted to leave at any point, I would not have stopped you. I'm not stopping you now.”

“We can just … go?” Annette said. “Just like that?”

“Yes,” Claude said. “Of course. I know this is strange to hear, but I'm not like your Faerghan monarchs. If you want to go, by all means, go. Cyril, correct me if I'm wrong, but they should still have time to get out before Dimitri arrives.”

“That's right,” Cyril said. “Not much time, but enough.”

“There you have it,” Claude said. “You may make your own choices. Just as everyone else here may make their own choices.”

Ashe looked to both of his companions. Felix was so furious his mouth was pressed into a thin, bloodless line. Annette was looking around the room, considering the people around her. 

She answered first.

“I'll stay.”

Ashe jerked. “Annie, what?”

She smiled over at him. “I'm going to stay. I'm going to fight. I'm done with this. And … and maybe Claude is right. This has been just disaster following disaster, war following war. If … if I can make it end, end for real, then I want to stay. I want to do this.” 

He saw the conviction in her eyes. He could do little but squeeze her hands. She'd been enamored with this place since they'd arrived; it wasn't really a surprise to hear that she wanted to defend it. But the thought that she might do it without him sent shivers down his spine. 

“Your contributions will be greatly appreciated,” Claude said. “And what about you two? I assume you're a—” he waved vaguely at Ashe and Felix “—pair. Or whatever.”

Felix stood. This time Ashe didn't attempt to stop him. Honestly, a decent punch was the least Claude deserved for bringing an entire army down on them—intentionally. However noble his goals might be, the fact remained that he had put Ashe, Felix and Annette in exactly the position they'd been spending moons trying to avoid.

Felix looked eerily controlled now, though. Whatever he planned to do, it was deliberate. Calm. That was somehow more frightening.

He glared down the length of the table, then started to walk around it.

He only managed two steps.

Ashe heard a strangled gasp. Saw Felix clutch at his chest. Blinked at a flare of blue light. 

Then Felix was on the floor making choking noises and scratching at his chest like he was trying to claw out his own heart. 

Ashe flew to his side. 

“No,” Felix grit.

And Ashe knew. Instantly. 

Blue crackled along Felix's skin, the blue of his crest bursting out uncontrolled, burning him from the inside out. Ashe stayed as close as he dared, but it was agonizing to watch Felix rolling in tighter and tighter on himself, searching for some sort of relief from the pain wracking his body. 

He heard a commotion around him. When Ashe looked up, everyone else had crowded around. Annette had her hands over her mouth. Hilda had put an arm out protectively, standing before Marianne. Lorenz watched with horror; Claude with interest. Cyril was looking around for anyone who might have an answer.

And Linhardt stood over them all, peering down from atop the table itself. The blue light of Felix's crest glinted in his eyes, now more alert and keen than Ashe had ever seen them. 

“Well, that _is_ something,” Linhardt murmured.

“Can you help him?” Ashe said. “Please, please help him.” 

“I wouldn't even if I knew how,” Linhardt said. “This is … absolutely fascinating.” 

This time it was Ashe lurching to his feet. He grabbed for Linhardt, who narrowly slipped away as Annette held back Ashe. 

“He's in pain,” Ashe shouted after Linhardt. “Help him.” 

“I can't,” Linhardt said. “Don't look at me like I'm a monster. I'm not doing this to him. And anyway, he's fine.”

Ashe spun back around. Felix looked far from “fine,” but the blue light had faded. He was sweating, breathing hard, but no longer convulsing with agony. 

Ashe knelt at his side, brushing hair off his damp face. “Felix,” he said.

“I'm OK,” he said. “I'm OK now.”

Ashe didn't believe it even a little, but it would have to do for getting them out of this damn room and to somewhere quiet and alone where they could sort out this bizarre day. 

Ashe helped Felix back to his feet. Annette joined them as they made to leave and Ashe had a horrible moment of wondering what it would be like if she stayed and they left, if she wasn't within arm's reach anymore. 

“I have a theory, if you care to hear it.”

Linhardt's voice froze them in place. They turned, finding Linhardt and Claude and the rest of this strange underground kingdom watching them. 

Linhardt hopped off the table, stepping right up to Felix, peering at him like a specimen behind a glass. “I didn't understand when you came to me,” he said. “And, frankly, I didn't really care to understand. Sounded pretty dull. But that—” His eyes gleamed. “That was anything but dull.”

Felix managed to scowl through the sheen of sweat on his face. “Glad you were so entertained.” 

“You should be,” Linhardt said. “Because now I know it's possible to activate someone else's crest.”

“Excuse me?” Felix said. 

“Who's holding your reins, Felix? They seem like an awfully cruel master, whomever they are.” 

“That's absurd.”

Linhardt shrugged a shoulder. “Rest. Consider it. Tell me if you come up with something better. As the world's only remaining crest scholar, I'd be terribly interested in hearing _your_ theories. I'm sure they'd be enlightening.” 

“Lin,” Claude cut in, “is this going to be a problem?”

“Hard to say,” Linhardt said. “It depends on what the person muzzling Felix wants. So, who is it? Any ideas?”

Ashe could feel Felix going tense in his hold.

“Well,” Linhardt said, “that's enough answer for me.” He turned to Claude. “Yes, this absolutely will be a problem.”

Claude's perpetual grin twisted to a grimace. “Lin, Lorenz, with me. Everyone else, prepare how you will. Ashe, Felix, I await your answer. Let's go.”

He turned, bustling from the room with Lorenz and Linhardt on his heels. 

Hilda was still glaring. Cyril and Marianne still looked worried. 

Ashe tugged on Felix's arm. “Come on, let's get out of here,” he said quietly. “We can figure this out somewhere else.”

Felix let Ashe tug him along into the halls and back toward their room. Annette followed them in and all three settled on the bed. Alone at last, the implications of the meeting buzzed in the quiet.

“Felix—” Ashe started.

Felix gripped Ashe's wrist, stopping him. When he looked up, Ashe saw fear on Felix's face, a fear so raw and unguarded it chilled Ashe to his core. 

“I'm going to fight,” Felix said. 

“Are you sure?” Annette said. 

“Yes,” he rasped. “I'm going to fight their whole damn army.”

“Felix...” Ashe said. He reached for Felix's arm. Felix set a hand over Ashe's.

“If someone...” Felix faltered, helpless rage flashing across his face. “If someone … 'holds my reins,' as Linhardt said, then … it's someone who's with Dimitri. Or Dimitri himself.” His expression darkened. “I mean to rip those reins free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The battle begins.
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!
> 
> Join the [Ashelix discord](https://discord.gg/cjFuCx) to hear my incoherent screeching about my beloved rarepair! (Ask me for link if it's expired!)


	12. Clouds on the Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri has arrived. 
> 
> And he is not happy with Felix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a generous portrayal of Dimitri, FYI.

A cloud darkened the horizon.

Felix stood with Ashe and Annette to either side, glaring into the distance. A haze smudged sun-drenched fields and forests far afield. A haze that roiled toward Garreg Mach like a crushing wave poised to crash over the town and monastery. 

Felix crossed his arms to calm the itch scratching at his palms. He felt a beat of pain within him, like an answer shouted across the cold expanse separating him from his enemies. 

Let them try. In war, in the midst of battle, their desire to use his crest against him and attempts to control him would fail. There would be no one within reach for him to hurt. No one he did not mean to hurt, anyway. They could burn him from the inside out and he would turn it against them, fling it out heedlessly, scorch everything he could touch. 

“Have you told Claude?” Annette said.

“No,” Felix said. 

“He's still waiting for your answer,” she said.

“He knows our answer,” Felix said.

“How?”

“We haven't left.” 

She reached for his folded arms, pried out his hand. Ashe took the other one. 

It felt strange. He was more accustomed to battle as a solitary thing. Even during the war, knowing he cared for Ashe but too afraid to admit it, he'd waded into skirmishes with a clear head and an empty heart. Better if he died, he'd thought.

He squeezed his companions’ hands. That moment in Enbarr and all that had followed it had taught him quite a bit more about the value of a single life than he'd ever appreciated before. 

“I'm sorry,” he said, looking over at Annette.

She smiled knowingly, but he continued anyway.

“You deserved better than all this,” he said. “We would have died without you. Or worse.” 

“You don't need to apologize,” she said. “I made my own choices. But I wouldn't hate a 'thank you.'” She smirked up at him.

“Fine,” he said. “Thank you.” 

She raised his hand to her lips, kissing it. “No problem, Felix.” 

“Don't talk like we're already dead,” Ashe said on his other side. “We've survived worse.” 

“You have,” Felix said.

Ashe flinched at that. The expression he turned on Felix then was a mixture of anger and grief that burned hotter than the crest trying to rage out of control within Felix. 

“We aren't dead,” Ashe said. “Claude has a plan. We can do this. We can end it. For good this time. And...” The anger melted away, leaving behind only the grief. “Without losing each other.” 

Felix clenched his teeth. 

_I hope so._

_I'll make sure of it._

_It won't be like Enbarr._

_Don't go._

_Stay. _

_Run._

_Hide._

_Let me fight for you._

Ashe didn't want to hear any of those things. Felix gripped them behind his teeth, squeezing Ashe's hand instead. 

“Let's help prepare,” Felix said.

They turned back toward the underground, putting the cloud in the distance to their backs for now.

#

The ceiling shook from a rumble of unnatural thunder.

Claude never asked them for an answer. As Felix supposed, them not fleeing after that meeting was answer enough.

They'd all spent the days following the meeting preparing the underground. It was more than just sharpening weapons. They assembled every scrap of armor they could find, which turned out to be a decent amount. It seemed Claude truly had been preparing for this for quite a while. 

But they also had to look after those who couldn't fight. The very young, the very old, those simply unable or unwilling (though that last category was the most sparsely populated. Even many of those who shouldn't have volunteered did – often more than once. Felix caught a boy no older than eight trying to claim he was 15). 

Days were spent ushering folks into even deeper tunnels, even more hidden recesses. They packed their things and prayed for Claude's eventual victory. No one needed to utter what would likely happen to them if Claude failed. A quick death would be a mercy. They could be captured by Dimitri's forces or buried alive in the underground if the battle went poorly enough, left to die slowly under the rubble. 

The ceiling shook again. Flakes of stone pattered down on Felix's shoulders like raindrops, reminding him just how easily the force above them could demolish this place.

“Do you really think Dimitri would kill all these civilians?” Ashe said.

“Yes.” Claude and Felix answered in unison. Claude's smirk was grim. 

“If he believed it was necessary,” Claude said, “Dimitri would destroy this place without a thought for who might be inside.”

“That's awful,” Ashe said. He shook his head. “I just have such a hard time imagining Dimitri doing something so cruel.” 

“It's been a long time since you've seen him,” Felix said. 

Ashe grimaced at that. But it was only the truth. The Dimitri who'd taken Enbarr was mad. Broken. Becoming king hadn't improved his demeanor. 

“That's why we need to fight,” Claude said. “He's not taking this place. Just like he's not taking the rest of Fodlan. The continent doesn't belong to Dimitri. It belongs to us. All of us. It belongs to them.” He gestured toward the spiderweb of tunnels throughout the underground. “It belongs to people, cultures, nations, individuals. It will never be the sole property of just one man.” 

Claude turned his gaze on Felix. “You and I are wedges driven into his neat plans,” he said. “Splinters. Thorns. He means to pluck us out. Let's go show him why he'll never succeed.” 

Felix nodded. 

“Are you prepared?” Claude said. Ostensibly, he spoke to the entire group, but his eyes never left Felix's. “Your crest, will it be a problem?”

Felix bit back the urge to snarl at that. “I'm ready,” he said simply. 

“Yes, but...” 

“It is as Linhardt said,” Felix said. “It’s a problem. But I mean to make it their problem.”

Claude lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“They can activate it all they want,” Felix said. “If I'm closer to them than to us then it will only serve to harm their forces.”

Ashe made a strangled noise. Annette gasped. 

“Felix,” one of them hissed. 

Claude was smiling. “So, that's your plan?”

Felix nodded. “Send me to the front. Let me get as close to them as I can. If they mean to use this against us, they will be bitterly disappointed.”

“And what happens when you're writhing in pain in the middle of a battlefield far from all your allies?” Claude said.

“That'll be my problem.” 

“Felix.” Ashe grasped his arm. 

Felix refused to look over at him. He focused on Claude. This was the right plan. This was the _only_ plan. He knew Dimitri or Andres or Byleth or whomever over there “held his reins” thought they'd done something clever, thought they'd planted a trap right in the middle of Claude's army. Felix was going to prove them wrong.

“Well,” Claude said, “I can't disagree with the logic of your plan. But it is rash. Even for you.”

“No one can get near me when they … when they do whatever they've been doing with my crest,” Felix said. “It won't matter. If anyone comes near, they'll burn.”

“And what happens when it stops?” Annette said. She was nearly shouting. “What happens when they realize they can't use that and now you're just hurt and alone out there?” 

“I'll do what I've always done,” Felix said. “I'll fight them.” 

“Fe--”

The ceiling shook. The thunder was closer this time.

Felix turned to Ashe at last, taking his hand. “We don't have time.” 

A dozen different emotions flashed by on Ashe's face, but he didn't say anything just then.

Every fighter who could marched out of the underground, gathering in the ruined monastery. They stood before the gates, assembled in loose groups commanded by the likes of Hilda and Marianne and Lorenz and Cyril and others Felix could not name. They wore mismatched armor, held a variety of weapons, ranged in age and size and nationality. 

It was a patchwork army, a quilt hastily sewn together with any available thread. The only thing uniform about them was the determination on their faces. 

Claude surveyed the throng. “Annette, I think you could best help over with Lorenz and the mages. We'll need to keep armored fighters from breaking down the walls. Understood?”

“Yes.” 

She turned to Ashe and Felix. She kissed Ashe first, sweet and lingering and easy. Then she faced Felix.

“Don't.” That's all she said. Just that one, clipped word. She pulled him to her mouth, a brusque brush of lips before she spun on her heel and disappeared into the ranks of the army around them. 

“Ashe,” Claude said. He pointed up to the stone walls ringing the monastery. “Some of the archers are up on the ramparts. You were always an excellent shot. Keep an especially keen eye out for fliers. Ingrid will be leading at least one battalion. I presume you understand just how deadly she can be.” 

“I do,” Ashe said. “She won't take this place. I promise.”

“Very well.” 

Ashe turned to Felix. “Don't,” he said, an echo of Annette. But the word wasn't clipped and hard when he spoke it. It trembled in his mouth, the reverberations of that quivering note rattling in Felix’s chest, breaking his resolve. 

“I won’t,” he said.

Ashe stepped close, heedless of Clause. He slipped his hands along Felix’s jaw, his thumbs caressing Felix’s cheeks. 

Ashe’s voice was quiet when he spoke, just for Felix. “Remember how you felt when I was gone? Please, don’t make me face that. I don’t think I’d be strong enough to endure it. I … I need you. I need you to live.” 

Felix wished he could tear himself out of Ashe’s hands then and hide his face, but he felt rooted to where he stood. Ashe’s gentle touch was as good as a vice. 

“Please,” Ashe said. “I know this is selfish of me. But … do what you need to do and then … and then come back to me.”

Felix took an unsteady breath. He couldn’t get away, so he leaned forward, his forehead pressing against Ashe’s. At least this way he was close enough that he could close his eyes, though it did little to quiet the tremors shivering through him. 

“I...”

But could he really promise that? If holding back meant this endless war dragged on, could he truly say he’d let that happen? 

“We can win and we can live,” Ashe said. “We can have both.”

“I hope so,” he said.

“Do better,” Ashe said. “You’re strong enough to fight whole armies. You’re strong enough to make your own future. So stop thinking of excuses and just do it.” 

Felix huffed a little laugh at that. He drew back, just enough so he could open his eyes and see Ashe trying to glare at him. 

“Well fought,” he said. “I concede.” 

Ashe smirked. “You better.” 

Felix pulled Ashe back in, pressing their lips together this time. His hands slid to Ashe’s waist, nudging Ashe against him. Felix hoped Ashe felt his promise in the squeeze of Felix’s hands, the lingering of his mouth. It was the best Felix had to offer. 

“Touching,” Claude said. 

Ashe and Felix eased apart. Felix exhaled a sigh. 

“Be safe,” he said.

Ashe stepped away, the heat of his body, the warmth of his scent fading like a leaf carried downstream, out of reach. “I will,” Ashe said. 

With a final nod to Claude, he turned away, starting for the ramparts. 

That left only Felix and Claude. 

“You’ve gotten soft,” Claude said.

“Oh?” 

Claude’s smile curled one side of his mouth. “Perhaps not. They say love can make us stronger. I suppose we’ll find out, eh?” 

Felix’s hand drifted to the hilt of one of his swords. “We will.” 

Claude, seeming satisfied with that response, led Felix into the ranks of the army assembled before the gates of the monastery. Soldiers saluted and bowed as Claude passed. A couple ran up with reports, questions, tidbits of information – all the nervous minutia that preceded a battle. 

Felix was eager for it to be over, for this period of waiting and shuffling and pacing to end. He was ready for this battle. He wanted this battle. He hadn’t realized just how long he’d been waiting for it until the moment finally arrived. Now, he just wanted it to begin. 

A messenger ran up. It took Felix a moment to realize it was Cyril. He was hunched over, catching his breath.

“What is it?” Claude said. The look of uncharacteristic concern on his face sent a gush of cold water through Felix. 

“Dimitri wants a parlay,” Cyril said.

“What?” 

Felix clenched his teeth. Was that Claude von Riegan sounding _surprised_ by something? 

Cyril regained his breath and straightened. “He wants a parlay with you,” he said. “And Felix.” 

“What?”

Now it was both of them snapping out in surprise. Cyril recoiled from Felix and Claude’s combined gazes. 

Claude recovered more quickly. “And where exactly does he think this will happen?”

“In front of the gates,” Cyril said. “His army is farther back. He’s just … He’s just standing there. Alone. Waiting for you.”

Felix balled his hands into fists. Had Dimitri gone completely mad? It would be just as easy for them to open the doors and slaughter the king as to go have this “parlay.”

Claude was smirking again. Felix’s stomach twisted.

“Well, let’s not keep him long.”

“Are you serious?” Felix said. 

“Entirely,” Claude said. “Cyril, might we borrow your mount?” 

“Of course,” Cyril said. 

Claude was already moving when he called over his shoulder, “Come on, Felix.”

Felix lingered, looking to Cyril. But the flustered messenger had no more answers than Felix himself. Reluctantly, he followed Claude. 

Felix had never particularly enjoyed wyverns or horses or mounts of any kind. When the beast beat into the air, Felix felt a singular sort of dread. Slowly, the army fell away, growing smaller and smaller as Felix and Claude climbed. 

Then, they crested the wall.

Felix saw Dimitri’s army. His whole army. What was left of the town was lost, churned under the wheels of massive war machines, ballistas and trebuchets with projectiles already loaded. All of Garreg Mach was full. How strange it was to see Dimitri – who’d defended this place against Edelgard – now invading it. His army stretched beyond the demolished walls of the town, rolling out over the hillsides, filling Felix’s view like a nest of ants stirred up and swarming toward the monastery. 

And there, alone, stood a figure in blue, pacing before the gates, Areadbhar glinting in his grasp.

The wyvern lowered to the ground on the other side of the gate.

Felix should have felt relieved to touch solid ground again, but his hand went to his hilt the moment it could. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he turned. Perhaps all that would be left of Dimitri was the boar, the man suffocated under ambition and madness. 

Felix turned and faced Dimitri across the steps that would soon become a battlefield.

Dimitri stopped pacing. His piercing blue eye fixed directly on Felix, narrowing. There was a gleam there, but it wasn’t raw madness. Instead: Rage. Condescension. Disgust. All of them horribly clear and focused. A snarl twisted Dimitri’s lips. He planted Areadbhar in the ground as Claude approached.

Felix broke first, looking past Dimitri. Dedue waited farther back. His expression did not change when Felix met his gaze, though Felix could see how eager Dedue was to rush to Dimitri’s side. 

And beside Dedue – Byleth. 

They were utterly unchanged, still his odd, placid-faced professor. They didn’t smile, didn’t react at all to the sight of Felix. They might have been seeing through him. 

Felix swallowed. Which one of them held the leash? Or was it someone else entirely? Someone hiding, lurking within the ranks of the force arrayed before the monastery? 

Claude broke the stalemate, swaggering right up to Dimitri, who flinched back. Claude stopped just out of arm’s reach, performing a sweeping bow.

“Your Majesty,” he said as he straightened.

Dimitri grumbled, lips twisting into a frown. He glanced at Claude, but quickly flicked his gaze back to Felix. 

Felix grit his teeth, stepping up beside Claude, standing tall as he faced down the king. Sure, he and Claude weren’t within grabbing distance, but that meant little with Dimitri clutching Areadbhar. Felix’s hand lingered on a sword hilt, brazen and obvious. 

“Felix,” Dimitri said. The name rumbled out of him like thunder out of a stormcloud. 

Felix said nothing.

“Your Majesty,” Claude cut in, “I’m told you’d like a parlay.”

Dimitri’s eye reluctantly cut toward Claude. “Yes.” 

“And?”

“And what?”

“What do you want?” Claude said. “I presume you aren’t going to turn around and _not_ attack my little settlement here, so what are you hoping to accomplish with this?”

“Him,” Dimitri said. His eye moved back to Felix.

Claude sighed. “I get it. You’re hot for Felix. Aren’t we all? But you’re gonna have to give me more than that or I’m flying away to prepare my troops.”

Dimitri managed to look annoyed, exhausted and disgusted with only that one eye. “This does not need to be,” he said. “I have no desire to kill you, Claude.”

“Touching.” 

“Felix can leave with me right now,” Dimitri said, “and this will end.”

“That so?” Claude said. “And what happens in a year? What happens when I don’t go away, when I rebuild this place, when those little rumblings in the south get louder, hm? I suppose Felix will fix all that?” Dimitri didn’t respond and Claude smirked.

“The blood that will be spilled here will be on your conscious,” Dimitri said.

“Will it, though?” Claude said. “We were perfectly content before you showed up. You could turn around if you really wanted to.”

“Felix must return.” Dimitri’s growl rose to a shout. Felix saw Dedue tense behind him. 

Claude looked over at Felix. “What do you say? Going home at last?”

For a moment there was a pause, a breath of peace. Then, several things happened all at once.

Felix spit on the ground at Dimitri’s feet. Dimitri reacted almost before the saliva hit the dirt, grabbing Felix by the front of his shirt and yanking him close. Claude took a step back while Dedue took several forward. Felix partially unsheathed a sword.

They hung there, frozen, everyone waiting for the move that would start the battle. But Dimitri somehow waved Areadbhar in a placating way toward Dedue. Only then did Felix spot the knife Dedue had drawn. 

“Why are you doing this?” Dimitri rasped.

“Fuck you,” Felix said. 

“Tell me,” Dimitri said. “Tell me why you’re doing this. Why can’t you just...” Dimitri spluttered, frustration painting his face with red splotches. “Why? What is this about? It would be so easy to just return and do what’s needed of you. And then this could end. You’ve played around for far too long, Felix, and it’s going to get all these people killed.”

“None of this is about me,” Felix said. 

“Of course it is.” Dimitri’s words blew hot against Felix’s face. 

“It’s not,” Felix said. “It never was. Do you really think I’m the only one who can lead Fraldarius? Do you really believe I’m even the _best_ person for that job? Come on, Dimitri.” 

“I think you’re the one who _should_.”

“Fuck ‘should.’”

Dimitri’s face bunched with disgust. He shoved Felix back, releasing his hold. “Of course. You never could just do what you were told, what was needed. Thank the goddess you didn’t have even more responsibility to shirk.” 

Felix chose not to respond to that, letting Dimitri’s words wash past him. His hand eased off his hilt. 

Dimitri scanned the ramparts. “How’s Ashe?”

“Don’t,” Felix said.

Dimitri’s grimace twisted into an ugly smile. “He should have died in Enbarr. At least during that year you pretended to give a shit.”

This time it was Felix lunging, Felix diving at his opponent, vision red, hands reaching for the throat of the king. 

Claude caught him, even as Dedue yanked Dimitri back a step. Felix struggled in Claude’s hold, but Claude snuck a foot between Felix’s and Felix had no choice but to stop moving lest he trip.

“Not here,” Claude whispered. “Save it for the battle ahead.”

Felix heard himself growl low in his throat, but he relented.

Dimitri’s anger was wholly unmasked now. “Petulant, spoiled child,” he said. “I’ll see you on the battlefield.”

“Hopefully,” Felix said. 

Dimitri glanced back up at those ramparts, at the walls where archers stood watching the tense exchange, at the place where, presumably, Ashe waited. 

“I’ll see him, too,” Dimitri said.

“Only if he’s putting an arrow through your other eye, boar,” Felix said. 

Dimitri huffed a laugh, but spun on his heel, leaving with Dedue. Byleth watched impassively, eventually joining the other two as they disappeared into the ranks of the Kingdom’s army. 

Claude finally released Felix. “Well, that went even worse than I expected.”

“No,” Felix said. “It went as it should.” Felix’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides. He felt Claude appraising him head to toe, from his ready stance to his bunched shoulders, but he didn’t care. 

Claude patted his shoulder. “Maybe it went better than I thought. Come on, let’s get back and prepare. It’s time to get that nasty leash off you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time we're getting ass deep in this battle. Get ready. I am SO excited for the end of Book 2. I've been holding on to this info for SO FUCKING LONG.
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!
> 
> Join the [Ashelix discord](https://discord.gg/cjFuCx) to hear my incoherent screeching about my beloved rarepair! (Ask me for link if it's expired!)


	13. Atop the Ramparts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe defends the monastery from atop the ramparts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Battle time, bitches!
> 
> TW for depictions of violence and a description of a sort of panic attack.

Petra looked down at the army roiling on the field below. The mass of soldiers and war machines was like water just beginning to boil; small ripples and bubbles burst out more frequently with each passing moment. Soon, they’d break, spilling over, storming the monastery and the defenders tucked behind its walls. 

Dorothea stepped up beside her. 

“It is strange,” Petra said. “Strange, again seeing this place like this.” 

“It is,” Dorothea said. 

Her response was dry, empty. Petra suspected Dorothea would have agreed no matter what she’d said. 

Petra bit back a sigh. Someday, perhaps, the flames of bitter hate fueling Dorothea’s desire for revenge would cool, but not this day. Petra feared if that fire was not satisfied soon, it would consume the mage.

Petra took Dorothea’s hand in hers. “We are so very close to our goal.”

Dorothea squeezed. “Right.”

They stood together surveying the forces below them. Petra had little love for either side. She would observe the bloodshed as she might a pack of animals fighting. And truly, that’s what they were. Dimitri and his ambitions versus Claude and his scheming. All of it so small and petty. 

Though, if Petra had to guess, she’d probably guess Dimitri would emerge the victor here. His forces were overwhelming, well-armed and armored and carting along war machines fit to lay siege to far more impressive structures than an old, beat up monastery. Even Claude’s plots and tricks would not be enough to contend with the raw power of the Kingdom. 

And yet … perhaps they would. It was never wise to underestimate Claude von Riegan, she’d learned. 

“What are you planning?” Dorothea said. 

“Just observing,” Petra said. 

“What will we do when the battle truly gets underway?” Dorothea said. “Do you mean to take a side?”

She knew what Dorothea was really asking. They should have been on Claude’s “side,” if they were to take a side. They should have hoped for Claude to emerge the victor here, breaking Dimitri’s control of the continent. 

But that meant hoping for Felix’s victory as well.

Petra would not let the woman’s bitterness cloud her own judgment, but already Dorothea had subverted Petra, had gone out on her own, passing Felix off to Sylvain in the hopes of impacting his fate. Petra feared that if Dorothea saw a chance in this battle to undermine Felix again, she would take it. 

“I will not be taking a side,” Petra finally answered. “I wish only for our victory.” 

“Hm.”

“He is one of their strongest weapons, Dorothea.” Petra looked aside at her partner, who did not meet her gaze. “If Felix is the sword that will cut our bonds, I mean to let him.”

Dorothea flinched at that, finally meeting Petra’s gaze. “But--” 

“We will dull him later,” Petra cut in. “Today, we need him sharp. Sharp enough to cut Dimitri down.”

#

“Fire!”

Ashe heeded Cyril’s command, setting an arrow loose. He lost track of his bolt as it blended among the volley of projectiles arcing over the ramparts. It was beautiful for an instant, all those straight, sure arrows shooting into the sky together. 

Then the arc curved downward. The arrows fell. The screams began.

Cyril shouted at the archers to keep firing. Ashe clung to Cyril’s voice rather than to the wails coming from far below on the battlefield. This was hardly the start of the horrible battle to come, Ashe suspected. The arrows were a warning, a last bit of deterrence to test just how badly Dimitri wanted to break through. He could choose to retreat, bide his time, set up a protracted siege. Or--

The war machines rolled toward the monastery.

“Stop them,” Cyril commanded. “The siege weapons. Aim at those! Take out anyone trying to operate the ballistas and trebuchets. Quickly!” 

Though wheeled, the trebuchets were too enormous to be agile. Ashe took aim at anyone trying to push or pull them toward the front lines, picking off soldiers struggling under the weight of the massive machines. But no matter how many he felled, more surged forward to take their places. The trebuchets advanced, slow and sure as distant thunder rolling toward Claude’s defenders.

And that was only the ones he could reach. Some of the largest weapons were setting up well outside his shooting range; even the best shot from a longbow would never reach them.

_How many people are you willing to sacrifice for this, Dimitri?_ The thought came unbidden, but with each shot, Ashe felt a pang of regret, of sadness at the grim necessity. Once, he’d assumed his comrades felt the same. 

Yet Dimitri wasn’t slowing. He wasn’t calling back his soldiers, no matter how many died to move the war machines. 

The first trebuchet made it into position. Ashe saw soldiers in blue starting to crank the machine’s massive arm back so they could load it and have it fling a boulder at the walls. 

He shot, taking out one of the people helping to crank the machine. But it wasn’t enough. Another soldier took their place. The arm crept back and back and back.

And then it released.

Ashe saw the stone soar upward against the tide of arrows fecklessly opposing it. Though it struck several feet away, Ashe was knocked from his feet as the ramparts shuddered under the assault. A spray of rock flew into the air. Someone screamed. Ashe’s allies shouted for healers, for help, for fallen comrades, even as Cyril and the other commanders tried to rally another attack. 

Ashe scrambled to his feet. They had to stop the trebuchets before they could fire more. 

But it was already too late. A boulder struck the opposite side of the wall. Then a third hit close, so close Ashe was thrown back to the ground, his bow skittering out of his grasp. He scrambled for his weapon, even as he felt flakes of stone patter on his back like raindrops. He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, but he didn’t even know how it had happened, or when. The ramparts dissolved into chaos. He lost track of Cyril’s voice, screams and shouted orders blurring into a haze of frantic noise. 

Ashe felt the panic rising, water filling up a well, threatening to overflow. He couldn’t let that happen; he had to stuff it back down somehow. This wasn’t Enbarr. This wasn’t even close to Enbarr.

It was worse.

Enbarr had been small compared to this, two modest forces rather than full-sized armies. Once the gates in Enbarr had gone, once Ashe had taken care of the ballistas, it had basically been over. Even he’d realized that, despite his predicament. 

But this. This was ... this was war. The deaths would be in the hundreds, the thousands. Both sides were already bloody and ragged. And this wouldn’t end once the gates opened, or didn’t. This wouldn’t end for … potentially for _days_.

The tide rose. Ashe felt himself drowning, struggling to stay afloat while treading dark, frigid water. He was crawling across the ramparts, groping for the bow he’d lost when he’d been knocked off his feet. He couldn’t tell if his hands were shaking or if it was just the shivering of the monastery’s walls as more projectiles shattered against them. 

His hand reached the bow the same moment someone grabbed the back of his shirt. 

“Ashe.” Cyril yanked him to his feet. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” Ashe said. 

Cyril jerked his hand free. “I’m sorry--”

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Ashe said. 

Even as he stood, trying to get his bearings, he saw a ladder hook over the top of the ramparts. Dimitri’s soldiers were attempting to climb up and storm the monastery, even as archers shot down at them.

“Cyril, the--”

The words died in his throat. He saw something flash past Cyril, a blur of movement high over his shoulder. Very high. 

“Fliers,” Ashe gasped.

“What?” Cyril spun around. 

The first flier soared easily over the ramparts, dropping stones to the ground. More soon followed. Some of the wyverns clutched rocks. Others held hot tar or large tree branches, anything they could drop on the defenders. 

“Shit,” Cyril cursed. “Ashe, we need to take them out.”

“But the walls.” 

Even as he spoke, the ramparts shook again. 

“We don’t have time for both,” Cyril said. “Aim at those fliers. Do it now.”

Ashe heeded Cyril’s command, taking up his bow, nocking an arrow, pulling it to his cheek. The shot was dangerous to say the least. The fliers were high and moving quickly and erratically. They weren’t like the trebuchets, lumbering in a straight line right at the gates, or the soldiers climbing up ladders directly below.

If Ashe missed his arrow would have no choice but to fall -- directly among the ranks of his allies. 

The tide rose again. Ashe felt it in his chest, filling his lungs, making it harder and harder to breathe. His hands were quivering, his arm straining as he hesitated with the arrow against his cheek. 

There was so much _noise_ everywhere. If only he could think. If only he could have a breath of space and peace. But the air seemed made of screams and shouts, orders and pleas and cries. The water reached his neck. Ashe was barely above the surface, barely breathing. He heard himself taking in thin sips of air.

“Ashe.”

Cyril’s voice came from somewhere outside him, somewhere distant and unreachable. 

Felix was down there. Annette was down there. His fumbled shot could easily kill either of them. 

Something shook the ramparts. Ashe nearly lost his arrow, nearly shot it wild. He clung to it desperately as he wobbled, barely keeping his feet. He trembled, searching for breath, searching for something, anything, steady and solid.

He found Cyril. 

Ashe gripped Cyril’s shoulder, bracing himself. Cyril did not reach for him in return, but his eyes flickered to Ashe’s hand on his shoulder. 

“I can’t do it,” Ashe said. “I’m so sorry.” 

He looked out over the defenders just behind the gates of the monastery. They were scattering, trying to dodge the debris the fliers were dropping among them. 

Cyril blocked his view. This time, he gripped Ashe’s shoulder, squeezing hard. “Look at me,” he said.

When Ashe’s eyes continued to dart around, Cyril put his free hand against Ashe’s cheek, forcing him to look forward. 

“Look at _me_,” Cyril said. 

Ashe swallowed, meeting Cyril’s eyes. “I-I’m going to miss, Cyril. I can’t hit them. The arrow will kill one of our own instead.”

“Shut up,” Cyril said. 

“But--”

“No,” Cyril said. 

Ashe clamped his teeth together. 

“You’re the best archer I have on this wall,” Cyril said. “Easily. Shoot down those fucking fliers. Do it, Ashe.”

“I used to be,” Ashe said. “Things have changed. You don’t understand.”

“I think I do,” Cyril said, his tone softening. “And I’m sorry. In a different place, a different time, I would … I hope we get a chance to talk, really talk, some day. But today, I need you to shoot down those wyverns.” 

Ashe still felt shaky, but he took a deep breath. 

“That’s it,” Cyril said. 

Cyril released him. Ashe still felt jittery, like bees hummed in his blood, but it wasn’t as bad as before. It wasn’t as frantic, as out of control. He found he could breathe, slowly and deliberately. In the moments between each exhale, there was a space of calm.

He lined up, nocking his arrow, pulling it back against his cheek. He exhaled. His hands were steady, if only for that brief space. He released.

There was a shriek from the wyvern as an arrow pierced its side. A flurry of wings. Then beast and rider both spiraled toward the ground, crashing among defenders. 

“Yes!” Cyril said. “Ashe, that was incredible!”

Ashe didn’t heed the praise. He nocked another arrow, lining up a second shot. It would take more than one fallen wyvern to scare off the fliers. The others were still dropping stones and tar on the defenders.

Ashe released another arrow and a second flier plummeted to the ground. This time it was the rider who fell, while the beast flapped away, its saddle suddenly empty. 

Cyril lined up next to Ashe and together they shot at the fliers trying to invade the monastery. It took several more arrows -- all of them hits -- before Ashe saw any progress, though. It seemed no matter how many times Ashe and Cyril shot them, the fliers were undeterred. He and Cyril simply weren’t enough to convince them to stop their assault.

Then Ingrid soared over the walls of the monastery.

Ashe spotted her immediately, tall atop a magnificent wyvern, lance gleaming as she swept toward the ramparts. Defenders dove out of her path. At least one met the steel of her weapon. 

At least the reckless dive put her within easy range. Cyril and Ashe instantly started running toward her, rushing through the chaos atop the ramparts toward their newest target.

_She won’t take this place. I promise._

Ashe meant to keep his word. He planted his feet, taking aim. She was still a little out of reach, but with each of her swoops looking more deadly than the last, Ashe didn’t feel like he had time to get closer. 

He lined up a careful shot as Ingrid reared up, raising her lance so she could dive back down once more. 

She paused. Paused and looked directly at Ashe.

Their eyes met across an expanse of screams, of battle and blood and nocked arrows and drawn swords and rusty red lances. Once, they’d read stories of knights and dragons together, huddled in the library of the school surrounded by their favorite fantastical books. Once, they’d shared their dreams of being knights, of being heroes. Once, they’d confided in each other over their grief. 

Ashe pulled the arrow to his cheek, aiming at Ingrid’s mount. 

She yanked on her wyvern’s reins. The beast beat its massive wings, climbing higher. Ashe shot, but the draft from those powerful flaps knocked his bolt off course. It hit the creature’s leg. Ingrid’s mount let out an ear-splitting wail, but did not fall. 

Ingrid climbed higher, soaring out of his reach as she went back over the wall.

“Nice, Ashe,” Cyril said. “You chased her away.”

“No,” Ashe said.

Cyril cursed under his breath and followed Ashe’s gaze. Sure enough, even as the walls shook, even as the trebuchets continued their assault, even as more ladders latched onto the top of the ramparts, Ingrid returned. This time, she was not alone.

A battalion of fliers followed Ingrid over the wall, cresting like a tidal wave about to break over the defender’s heads. There were far too many for Ashe and Cyril to cover. They darkened the sky like a stormcloud; the beat of so many wings caused gusts of air to gush down at Ashe. Even if he and Cyril _were_ enough to take on so many, Ashe wasn’t even sure if his arrows would reach anything after having to pass through so much resistance.

Stone and tar began to fall, boiling water, tree trunks, anything the wyverns could carry. Even worse, there were mages among the fliers now, either alone or clinging to riders. They flung bolts of lightning and fire and ice downward. 

Flashes and flares answered from the defenders. Ashe could see bursts of light as crests activated. Blue, red, gold and more besides. He knew at least one of them had to be Felix. Ashe could almost pick out the pattern of blue flashes that meant Felix had hit his rhythm. It was a comforting flare, a signal that Felix was alive down there -- and winning. Ashe almost wished he had a crest so he could answer in kind. 

A streak of ice cracked into the ground near Ashe, forcing him to roll sideways. He’d just have to do this without a crest, like he always had. He leapt back to his feet, trying to steady his aim once more. 

But Ingrid was smart. She was keeping the fliers tightly packed, creating that horrible downdraft that would repel any arrow that attempted to pierce it. Moreover, she was directing a couple of her mages at Ashe. He was forced to duck below the lip of the wall as fire and lightning burst against the stone.

Cyril crouched beside him. “This is really bad,” he said. “We can’t get up. We can’t shoot at her.”

“I know.” 

_She won’t take this place._

There had to be a way, a chink in her armor. Maybe he could dodge out, distract Ingrid, create an opening for Cyril. Even as he thought it, Ashe felt a pang of guilt. After that stern talk he’d had with Felix, he was going to be the one chasing a crazy plan deep past enemy lines. Someone had to stop Ingrid though, before she could create even more chaos among the defenders, before she could harry them so badly that the gate cracked and opened and Dimitri’s entire army flooded in. 

Ashe jumped to his feet. He heard Cyril cry out in surprise.

“Shoot her,” Ashe said. 

He ran, leaving Cyril behind, dashing across the ramparts, praying Ingrid was fixed on him but too terrified to check.

The magic answered for him. An unnatural icicle shattered on the ground just behind him, the bolt so close he felt a spray of ice against his ankles. A flare of purple crackled ahead. Ashe was forced to stop before he ran headlong into the magic. 

He spun. His plan had definitely worked, if the half dozen mages and fliers fixated on him was anything to go by. They had him penned in, magic crackling in their hands as they prepared to launch it at Ashe. 

An arrow hit one, throwing a mage screaming to the ground. Ashe took the chance afforded by Cyril to nock his own arrow and level it at the fliers. He got his shot off before they recovered, sending beast and rider alike plummeting out of the sky. 

It wasn’t enough.

Even as Ashe nocked another arrow, even as he saw Cyril continuing to shoot, he knew it simply wasn’t enough. There were too many. And they were all looking at him. 

He didn’t bother praying or apologizing, didn’t waste space on remembering that awful day in Enbarr. He pulled his arrow tight against the bowstring, drew it back to his cheek. 

They would fall with him.

There was a flash of magic.

Ashe braced, realizing a moment later it hadn’t come from the mages looming above him.

Ashe startled, hesitating. More magic flew, knocking a mage out of a saddle and sending another dangerously off-balance.

Cyril’s arrows joined the volley of magic. Ashe didn’t have time to wonder about this extreme good fortune; he added his bolts to the fray. 

The combined effort sent the fliers skittering away, dodging and wobbling as they sloppily tried to evade the magic and arrows still shooting in their direction. 

When at last they retreated, Ashe scanned the ground, searching for his savior. He saw Annette far below, surrounded by a battalion of mages. Fire still danced in her hands. She glared after the retreating fliers. As Ashe watched, he saw her scream something after them, but he could not hear her from atop the walls. 

Finally, she looked up at him instead. Her fury melted to concern, but he just smiled and shook his head. She wagged a finger at him, encompassing in that simple gesture fear, reproach and relief all at once. 

He could only shrug in return. 

Cyril clapped him on the shoulder. “We did it.” 

“Yeah,” Ashe said, “Ingrid retreated.”

“Not just Ingrid,” Cyril said. “Look.”

He pointed back toward the battlefield. The trebuchets still stood, ominous, hulking beasts, but they were no longer firing. Ashe realized he hadn’t felt the wall shake in quite some time.

“Why did they stop?” Ashe said.

“I dunno,” Cyril said, “but they did. And that’s a very good thing.”

Something cold sank into Ashe’s stomach. “No...”

“We must have shot enough of them that they don’t feel like getting arrows through ‘em anymore,” Cyril said.

“No,” Ashe repeated. “Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Cyril said. “We’re winning. Even the defenders down there are holding the gate.” 

Ashe ran for the edge of the wall. He peered over the side, down to where the defenders had assembled before the gate. They held yet, though a trickle of Dimitri’s soldiers were managing to sneak inside via holes in the wall or ladders over it. 

The cold settling in Ashe’s stomach turned to ice. Why just a trickle? Why weren’t they breaking down the gates? Why were they sending so few against the likes of Felix and Hilda and Claude when they had so many? 

“Cyril, something’s wrong here,” Ashe said. “Something’s very wrong.” 

Cyril seemed to see it at last. “Fuck,” he hissed. 

There was a flare of blue, brighter and more brilliant than ever before, so bright Ashe could hardly look at it.

Then the screaming began in earnest. 

“Felix.” 

Ashe ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters wrap up this battle and book 2 and OMG I'M SO EXCITED. I've been hanging on to the chapter 15 twist FOR SO LONG. Thank you for sticking with me, friends!
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!
> 
> Join the [Ashelix discord](https://discord.gg/cjFuCx) to hear my incoherent screeching about my beloved rarepair! (Ask me for link if it's expired!)


	14. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once, as a boy, Felix lost control.
> 
> He vowed it would never happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where shit starts to go off the rails. If you're expecting strict adherence to the game's lore, you're going to start to be disappointed.

Once, as a boy, Felix lost control. 

He’d been sparring with Glenn, whacking sloppily at his brother with a wooden sword. Glenn, taller, already training to be a knight, had easily batted Felix’s sword away, laughing as he danced out of range. It was play for Glenn.

But not for Felix.

Even as a child, he’d grit his teeth, gripped his sword and charged at his opponent. 

And that’s when it’d happened – a flash of blue bright enough to be blinding in the training yard outside Fraldarius Keep. Glenn was bleeding and burned on the ground before Felix even realized what he’d done. 

From that day on, everything changed. Even while Glenn still lived, their father looked at Felix a little differently. 

A major crest. 

The news whispered through Fraldarius, through the entirety of the Kingdom. 

A major crest. 

Not a minor one like Rodrigue, but a full-fledged, naturally-occurring major crest of Fraldarius. They hadn’t seen one since … since Kyphon.

They didn’t scold Felix for losing control of his crest that day. But they didn’t need to. He remembered the little scars on Glenn’s hands where he’d thrown them up to shield himself from the burst of magic. Remembered them long after Glenn was gone, long after he’d seen his hands, his face, for the last time. 

He vowed he’d never lose control again.

#

The gates shook. Felix beat a sword aside, dispatching the man who’d been wielding it. The soldier in blue went down with a clipped scream, adding to the carnage before the gates. 

The massive doors shuddered again. Felix could hear the low rumble of the battering ram drawing back, preparing for another strike. He had no idea how sturdy the gates were, how long they might last under the assault. 

Even with the gates still standing, however, Dimitri’s troops trickled in. They scaled the ramparts with ladders or squeezed in through holes in the walls. 

Felix fought alone. Occasionally, Claude’s arrows whistled past, as much an attempt to kill an enemy as a reminder to Felix that someone had his back. 

He didn’t care. He didn’t need anyone’s help or protection. He’d placed himself exactly where he should be – close to the gates, cutting down anything that tried to get over or through them. 

His crest sang within him.

He could hear it humming in his blood, an old, familiar tune. It might have been comforting, if he could not also sense its eagerness, like a rabid animal playing at docility only until its chains were removed. With every swing, with every cut, with every horrible scream, it revealed its true nature, hungry and snarling, scrabbling for release. 

Felix shoved it down. He didn’t need his crest to win. Not today. Not ever. He was in control. Even if the enemy tried to pry it out of him, even if they forced the crest to explode to the surface, he wouldn’t let them take control. He’d wield even that against them. 

Something crashed behind him. He heard a fresh wave of shouts, but these came from the wrong direction.

Felix whirled around in time to see stone and tar falling from above. As he watched, a rider on a wyvern dropped another lethal package, crushing an unfortunate defender. 

In the next instant, the rider spiraled out of the sky, careening to their doom. 

More arrows streaked at the fliers. A smirk tugged at Felix’s mouth. Ashe was fighting back. All of Dimitri’s tricks were failing. Crests, fliers, war machines – they weren’t going to be enough to take the monastery. 

Felix turned away from the battle in the skies. Ashe was doing his part, keeping the fliers at bay. Felix had to take up his cause as well. 

He dove back into the skirmishes before the gates, repelling intruders who’d found ways into the monastery. Even as the gates shook, Felix fell into a rhythm. 

He heard the chaos behind him intensify. A new wave of fliers? Or perhaps Ingrid had finally made her appearance. 

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. It just meant Felix had to work harder and faster at the gates. Some of the other defenders had started to pull back to deal with the assault from above. Felix didn’t see Claude’s arrows whizzing through the chaos anymore; even Lorenz had backed off, likely to aim his magic upward. 

Felix glanced over at Hilda. For all her claims of laziness and disinterest, she grinned as she hefted her axe in both hands. Their eyes met across the battlefield. For at least this moment, they were allies, perhaps the last allies either had this close to the fray. Hilda smiled. Felix nodded. 

They were more than enough. 

They both dove back into the fight. Felix’s mind emptied of all but the motions of his sword. It seemed so easy, so natural. 

Perhaps that was why he didn’t notice his crest activating in trickles. It hummed in his hands, in his mind, in his blood. It beat with his heart, war drums ticking in time with his footsteps.

He didn’t resist any longer, letting it emerge in quick bursts, flaring blue as he cut down enemies. It was as natural as his breath, inextricably linked to every movement. It was an old friend, an old enemy; it knew his every thought, his every want, desire and need. The crest washed through and out of him like his very breath: inhale, and he felt that surge of unnatural power; exhale, and it came out, a haze around him, as tethered to his movements as his own shadow. And his enemies fell and fell and fell. 

He almost wished the gates would break, creaking and bent as they were now. The trickle of enemies making it inside the monastery wasn’t enough, not for the thing vibrating through his blood. It hissed in his ears. In his mind’s eye, he could see the battlefield outside the gates, a battlefield full of enemies just waiting to fight. He heard their jeers, their mockery. They believed they had him leashed, but they had no idea what they attempted to restrain. 

Felix bared his teeth, wearing a twisted smile as he went about his work. He saw other flashes. He could almost hear those other hums, those echoing drum beats. Hilda’s crest flared, Lorenz’s, Marianne’s, Claude’s, Annette’s. He wondered if Sylvain’s was flashing somewhere out there on the other side of this gods damned gate. 

He never got to find out.

It happened suddenly, like having a horse shot out from under him while Felix was galloping at full speed. 

The hum turned to a scream. The whispers turned to shrieks inside his head. The thrum in his blood turned to fire – clawing, consuming fire trying to tear itself out of him. 

Felix choked. His swords fell from hands gone rigid with pain. Never had it been this bad. Not once. Not even close.

He felt his body hit the ground but it barely registered. Everything was blue. Blue flaring out of him. Blue washing over the whole world. Blue cracking like bursts of lightning. And every bolt shattered his body as it exploded out.

He was burning alive. 

Felix curled in on himself. His whole body trembled as the crest within him scrabbled to get out like a frantic rat raking through his chest. He felt white hot lashes of magic sear his back, cutting through his skin like thorns bursting through him. 

He didn’t know if he was screaming. It felt like nothing was getting in or out of his throat. He gasped. His lungs ached for air, but he got only brief sips squeezed between fresh waves of agony. He could feel it building up, gathering like a spring coiling, waiting for release.

When it exploded, he had little hope that he’d survive. 

A hand grabbed him by the collar.

#

Ashe leapt down the stairs, Cyril fast on his heels. They raced down the ramparts and toward the screaming defenders below. 

Light flashed and flared, a rainbow of erratic sparks. Ashe had to put his hands up to shield his eyes as bursts lit up nearby. He could feel the heat of a runaway crest sear his forearms. 

Cyril reached out, steadying Ashe as they both reached the ground. When Ashe could lower his arms, he was met with chaos. 

There was little difference between defenders and invaders now. Anyone with a crest, anyone with even a hint of a crest, was writhing on the ground or hunched against a wall. Never had Ashe assumed the blood of those carrying crests had, or even could, disperse so far, but judging by the amount of people screaming in pain, even a sliver of crest blood was now boiling out of control. Several people clawed at their own throats like they were trying to dig the magic out. Ashe spotted Claude curled up on the ground, Lorenz crawling toward him. He saw Marianne foaming, eyes rolled back so far all he could see were the whites. Hilda shrieked; Annette threw random sparks of magic at the sky; Linhardt lay fetal on the ground. 

Everywhere Ashe looked, there was someone else shrieking and convulsing. Pulses of light flared like beacons of pain. They painted the battlefield in ghastly, bright hues, like glimmering splashes of poison. 

“What’s happening to them?” Cyril breathed. 

“I have no idea,” Ashe said. 

He did not wait around and wonder any longer. Ashe waded into the mayhem, searching for Felix among the fallen defenders. Someone grabbed at Ashe’s ankle as he passed. They looked up at Ashe with pleading eyes, but he jerked himself free. He could not help the poor person. He wasn’t sure he could even help Felix, if Ashe could find him. Nevertheless, he had to try. 

At the very least, he had to pull Felix away from the danger. There were still soldiers in blue sneaking into the monastery. Ashe noticed in horror that more and more appeared each moment. 

“They planned it.” 

Cyril bumped into him when Ashe stopped abruptly and grabbed an arrow.

“What’s wrong?” Cyril said, but in the next moment he too held a bolt at the ready.

“They planned it,” Ashe said. “They’re sending in crestless soldiers right now. They knew. They knew this would happen.” 

Ashe’s blood felt cold. What had been happening to Felix wasn’t about Felix. It wasn’t one angry person with a vendetta against him. It was part of a larger plan – _this_ plan. To cripple Claude’s crest-filled army so that a wave of crestless soldiers – waiting in the wings for just this moment – could sweep in and slaughter them. 

Ashe forgot about Cyril. He forgot about everything but the soldiers in blue before him. He ran toward them, firing even as he went. The first two to go down seemed surprised, but the rest soon rallied. 

He didn’t know when the other crestless defenders started following him, but soon Ashe had a woman lined up beside him, firing at the invaders. More archers joined their hastily assembled defense, while those who could rushed toward the front lines with spears and swords and axes drawn. 

Clearly, this wasn’t part of Dimitri’s plans. The invaders seemed surprised to be opposed at all, let alone so quickly. They stumbled back under the initial push by the defenders. 

Ashe took his opportunity. He rushed closer to the front lines. That’s where Felix would be, he was sure. 

Ashe found him near the gates, writhing on the ground and senseless with agony. Flares of blue pulsed around him. The magic had shredded Felix’s shirt to ribbons, lacing hot stripes of lightning across his back. Even as Ashe approached, that lightning leapt out, trying to burn him as well.

Ashe put up his arms and pushed closer. He could feel the magic lashing out, slicing through his skin like hot knives. Still, he struggled closer, until he could grab Felix by the collar of his tattered shirt. 

Felix jerked for a moment, but in the next he arched, gritting his teeth through a fresh wave of pain. 

Ashe dropped his bow, wrapping both arms around Felix, hugging the swordsman against his chest. It was awkward trying to stand with Felix in his arms, but Felix clearly couldn’t manage it alone. All the while, the magic of the crest struck like whips, cracking across Ashe’s back, his arms, his face, any bit of skin it could reach. 

And he and Felix were far from alone. Dimitri’s defenders had recovered and were making a fresh push. Ashe could do nothing to defend himself. He clung to Felix, dragging the senseless swordsman along as he stumbled away from the gates, back toward somewhere that might be even a fraction safer. 

Ashe didn’t even see the man running at him with an axe until an arrow whizzed past, sending the soldier to the ground. Ashe gasped, searching for his rescuer. The woman who’d leapt to his side to push back the invaders now shouted orders at a group of archers who’d managed to assemble in some sort of cohesive group. She waved for Ashe to hurry, even as she directed her makeshift cohort to continue firing. 

Ashe committed the woman’s face to memory, even as he continued dragging Felix to safety. When he got closer to the line of archers, two soldiers grabbed Felix from him; another put an arm around Ashe himself. They guided Ashe and Felix to relative safety, but before Ashe could even thank them, they disappeared, running back to the monastery’s defense. 

Ashe watched them go, wishing he could chase after them, wishing he could call out his thanks. Even amid the chaos and confusion, Claude’s stalwart band of misfits were looking out for each other, adapting more quickly than Dimitri ever planned, creating new chains of command on the fly. No one was wasting time figuring out who was the proper rank to be in charge; anyone with the capacity and wherewithal in the moment was simply doing the job. 

And it was working. 

They were keeping Dimitri’s solders at bay. The trickle sneaking over or through the wall wasn’t going to be enough, even with every crested person useless from pain. 

“Ashe.”

He looked down to where Felix lay. His eyes were lidded and glazed. He grit his teeth, eyebrows twisting as he struggled just to reach out for Ashe. 

Ashe took his hand, finding it clammy. Felix seemed too weak to even squeeze Ashe’s hand in return.

“You’re safe now,” Ashe said. “I have to go find Annette.” 

“I hurt you,” Felix grit.

Ashe blinked. All at once, the cuts and lashes of the crest magic stung. He could feel them all over his body, from the bleeding wound on one cheek to the marks across his shoulders to even the cuts latticed down his legs. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Ashe said. “It’s not your fault.”

He could see Felix trying to disagree, even as a fresh wave of pain made him squeeze his eyes shut and gasp. Now, finally, he gripped Ashe’s hand in return, but it was a hold that threatened to break Ashe’s fingers. 

Goddess, this was bad. This was so, so bad. Ashe had to find a way to stop it, but he had absolutely no idea where even to start. First, he had to find Annette, to make sure she wasn’t somewhere vulnerable, that someone was protecting her, too. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said. 

Felix looked like he wanted to speak, but his teeth remained clenched.

“Don’t worry,” Ashe said. “I’ll be right back. I swear.” 

“Ashe.”

Ashe dashed off before Felix could waste energy objecting. The back lines were swarming with convulsing crest bearers, with healers frantically trying to do anything they could, with people shouting for help or just shouting from pain. 

Ashe headed toward where he thought he’d seen Annette firing at Ingrid and the fliers before. Gods, had that only been minutes earlier? Fighting the fliers, feeling like they were repelling the attack and winning the battle, seemed like actions from another lifetime. 

He found the mages at last and Annette among them. When he rushed to her side, he found her in pain but not nearly as impaired as Felix. 

“Annette,” he gasped. He got an arm around her, helping her to stand. 

“Ashe,” she said. “What are you doing?”

He scooped her into his arms. “Taking you somewhere safe.”

“I’m OK, Ashe. Help someone else.”

“No,” he said, already setting off. “I’m not leaving you. No matter what happens, I’m going to protect you and Felix. I promise.”

“Ashe,” she said, but she did not follow it up. 

She nestled against him as he jogged off with her in his arms. Once again, he felt magic sizzling against his skin, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as when he’d been holding Felix. _Could it be because of the major crest Felix carries?_

Ashe was surely no expert on crests, but it didn’t take Linhardt’s depth of knowledge to notice the wide range of reactions among the crest bearers in the ranks. Felix was in far worse shape than anyone else Ashe encountered. Many crest bearers were in a state more similar to Annette’s – not comfortable, to be sure, but not entirely debilitating, either.

Even many of those who’d initially reeled from the shock of discovering a sliver of crest blood within them seemed to be recovering, in fact. They rushed to join the haphazard defense, rebuilding the ranks even as they winced from flares of pain. 

He managed to get Annette to where Felix still lay on the ground clutching himself. They were against a building, tucked into a corner away from the fray. Annette was able to sit up when Ashe set her near Felix, though she was sweating from pain. 

“Ashe,” she said.

He didn’t let her finish. “Stay here,” he said. “I need to join the defense. We have to keep them from getting through.”

“Ashe,” she tried again. 

“I’ll be OK, Annie,” he said. “I promise.” 

“Ashe.” This time she grabbed his wrist. She pointed up and Ashe turned.

A wyvern lowered toward them, wind gusting over the trio as the beast’s wings beat. Cyril leapt off its back, running to Ashe. 

“Are they OK?” Cyril said. His eyes lingered on Felix in particular.

“No,” Ashe said, “we have to figure out--”

“I saw it,” Cyril said. 

“What?”

“I know what’s causing this,” Cyril said. “I flew up and … you should see it yourself.”

Ashe’s heart leapt into his throat. Was he really about to see who “held the leash,” as Claude had said? He needed a bow, a knife, anything he could carry. He needed to end this. 

Cyril seemed to guess his thoughts. “I have a spare bow on my wyvern,” he said. 

Ashe met his gaze. It was steely and set, harder than Ashe had ever seen it back when Cyril was just a boy who cleaned the monastery. What had happened to him in all these long, strange years? 

Ashe would have to ask later. For now, he met Cyril’s eyes, nodding. 

“Wait,” Felix gasped below them. 

When Ashe met his gaze, he found the opposite of what he’d seen in Cyril’s eyes. Felix pled silently with him, worry and pain and fear twisting his expression. 

Ashe crouched before Felix, cupping his face despite the magic that burned his hands when he did. “I’m going to cut you free,” he said. When he kissed Felix, his lips seemed to sizzle, laced with flaring magic. 

Ashe stood before Felix could protest, facing Cyril. “Let’s go.”

Together, they ran for the wyvern, leaping onto its back. Just as Cyril had promised, a bow waited in the saddle for Ashe. He took it up even as he held onto Cyril’s waist. The wyvern lurched upward, the sounds of the battle lost among the beating of those massive wings. 

Ashe closed his eyes, clinging to Cyril. He didn’t even notice the battle grow distant. When he opened his eyes, he was high above the monastery, Felix and Annette two small figures watching him far below. 

The wyvern stopped going up and started going outward, away from the monastery, over its wall and toward the ravaged town beyond. 

“There,” Cyril shouted over the sound of wind whistling past their ears. 

Ashe searched, scanning the battlefield. The trebuchets and ballistas still stood, though they looked abandoned now. Even the battering ram at the gates was no longer manned. From this vantage, Ashe could see that Dimitri’s own army was nearly as hampered as Claude’s. Flares of crest magic flashed below, bright jewels among the drab monotony of the assembled army. 

And there, right in the center of it all, was a bright drop of red. 

A man stood in the center of Garreg Mach. Red stones glowed in his hands, pulsing. The red seeped out like an evil mist swirling around the sorcerer. 

Ashe had no idea who the man was, what he was doing, _how_ he was doing it. But he knew in that moment, sure as he knew his own name, that he’d found the man who’d been tormenting Felix all this time. 

“Ready?” Cyril called. 

Ashe gripped his bow, staring at the red figure far below. “Yes,” he said.

#

Annette tried to stop him when Felix pushed to his feet, bracing against the structure behind him. 

“He’s not doing this alone,” Felix said.

Annette watched him a moment before nodding and standing up beside him. “Let me go,” she said. “You can barely stand.” 

She didn’t look like she was doing much better than him, in truth, but Felix didn’t bother pointing that out. It was all he could do to breathe through the hand squeezing his lungs tight. Magic pulsed out of him with every heartbeat, that rabid animal within him clawing furiously for release.

He grit his teeth and shoved away from the wall, determined to stand without help. 

“Stubborn ass,” Annette muttered. 

But when he started off she walked beside him, not offering help. Felix half stumbled, half jogged through the defenders, pushing for the gates. He still had one sword left, somehow (he didn’t remember retrieving it, in truth); that would have to be good enough.

He could feel the crestless defenders staring as he dragged himself toward the gates, sometimes limping, crest magic flaring out wildly. He screamed at nothing, screamed simply from the maddening, constant presence of the fire burning him alive, screamed from the frustration of watching Ashe disappear into enemy hands again.

This wouldn’t be Enbarr. If Felix had to fight Dimitri’s entire army in this state, this would _not_ be gods damned Enbarr.

One of Dimitri’s soldiers made the mistake of stepping into Felix’s path. Cutting the man down provided a breath of relief, a short space in which the out-of-control crest was a help and not a hindrance.

He kept at it, pushing well into the ranks of the invaders trying to storm the monastery. They swiveled toward him, weapons drawn. If he could have, Felix would have grinned. 

Instead, he screamed. Screamed as the crest raged on, as it burst out to burn both him and his enemies, screamed as his sword found body after body to cut through on his way toward the gap in the wall. 

He wasn’t sure when they stopped opposing him. His arms quivered; whether from stress or pain, he could not say. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that there was a gap in the wall and no one was bold enough to push through it and die right now. 

He and Annette clambered through the broken stone, emerging on the other side of the wall. 

There, they stopped. 

This side of the battlefield was no less chaotic than the one they’d left behind. A good chunk of Dimitri’s soldiers were writhing on the ground in pain. Surely, Dimitri didn’t have that many crest bearers with him. That would be impossible. 

But then Felix stepped forward. 

He felt it like a clap of thunder vibrating through his chest. The pain ratcheted up a tick, like he’d stepped closer to the heart of the fire burning him from within. 

These soldiers all around him weren’t crest-bearers, though; he couldn’t figure out why so many were in pain. Then his eyes swept over the banners of Fraldarius, Gautier, Galatea, Blaiddyd. All crest-bearing families. All families that at some point had held major crests. Apparently, all it took was the barest sliver, the tiniest trickle of crest-touched blood. If someone’s aunt’s cousin’s grandfather’s uncle had slept with a Fraldarius 500 years ago, some poor bastard was paying for it now, here.

Felix took another step. It was like willingly walking into flames. 

Overhead, a wyvern flew by. It was going the wrong direction, soaring deeper into enemy territory with two riders on its back. 

Felix followed the path of its flight and found a red haze in the distance, like an evil fog glowing with malice. He knew with absolute certainty that that’s where Ashe was headed and, therefore, where he had to go as well. But the wyvern was fast and Felix was struggling more and more just to stay upright with every halting step. Ashe would reach that horrible fog well before him. 

Felix grit his teeth. He’d have to run for it. He’d have to dive into the flames, knowing how they’d burn hotter and hotter with every pace.

Annette grabbed his arm. She was looking far worse than she had before, but when she met his gaze she merely nodded. 

He shifted her grip, putting her hand in his, squeezing it tightly. 

Without another word, they charged headlong toward the red mist in the distance and the wyvern swooping toward it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT (in this book; there is a third book planned). Next time: Ashe and (maybe) Felix and Annette reach the red mist. What do they find? 
> 
> \---
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	15. The End of Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever is happening to the crest bearers must be stopped, but how, when they don't even understand how it's happening?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The last chapter of KAS 2! But the story **is not** over here. There WILL be a [Knight and Squire 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899416/chapters/60250303), and you'll soon see why.

The pain was incredible. 

Felix had been in pain before. He’d been cut, stabbed, struck and worse. And that had all been bad. 

But what coursed through him now was _molten._ It was angry. It was boiling hot. Every time he thought he could endure it it found some soft unguarded place it hadn’t touched yet and he suffered anew. At times, when his mind could no longer fathom another second this way, he felt like he was watching himself from afar, drifting out of his own body to observe its demise with cold detachment.

Then some fiery hand would grab him by the neck and drag him back, pressing his skin to the flames clawing their way out of him. 

Annette clutched his hand. He heard her whimper beside him as they ran. He could not help her; he could not even help himself. All he could do was squeeze her hand and grit his teeth and run, run toward that awful red light, run toward the heart of the inferno, run toward Ashe, now landing, now within the enemy’s reach, now back in harm’s way. 

Annette jerked him to a halt. It took Felix a moment to realize that she’d stopped in order to avoid colliding with two people who barred their way. He clutched his sword, aching for the release a little carnage could provide. 

His watery vision cleared just enough for him to make out the figures before him. His hand tightened on the sword hilt. 

“Get out of the way,” he said between gritted teeth. 

“Shut up, Felix,” Sylvain said. “How are you even standing?” Sylvain himself was sweating, tottering, clinging to Ingrid’s shoulder. 

“Don’t,” Ingrid said. Even clenching her teeth from pain, she managed to shoot each of them a sharp glare. “Just don’t.” 

She approached, leading Sylvain. Felix lifted his sword, but Annette used their linked hands to jerk him back a little.

“That’s not it,” she said. 

He didn’t understand until Ingrid stood on the opposite side of him, holding him by the bicep even while she gripped Sylvain in her other hand. 

For a moment they just stood there, all four linked, keeping each other upright. Ingrid and Sylvain had no weapons. Between the four of them, they had Felix’s sword and Annette’s magic. Still, Felix felt a little stronger all of a sudden, a little more able to push through the brick wall of pain separating him from Ashe and the red mist ahead.

“No time,” he grit.

“We know,” Ingrid said. “Go. We are with you.”

Her words pierced the thick cloak of agony muddying his thoughts. For a moment, he saw a night impossibly long ago, a night from a different lifetime, a night full of booze, laughter, confessions, full of bodies stumbling into each other and eyes meeting just a second too long. He saw Ingrid facing him in the dark of an inn room, holding his hands, her forehead against his, pressing understanding into the space where their skin met. 

“OK,” he said. 

Ingrid started moving, forcing them all onward. He knew it must hurt her, hurt her the way it was hurting all the rest of them, but Ingrid was like a stalwart boulder, rolling on no matter how much resistance she encountered. More than once, he thought he could not go on and her steady hand on his arm pulled him forward; more than once, he stumbled and felt Annette and Ingrid keep him from falling. 

Red mist started to seep around his feet, a hissing, vile fog. Felix could make out Ashe crouching behind a tent and peeking out to shoot. But it wasn’t just Cyril with him. There was another figure fighting alongside Ashe now.

Dedue. 

He had his axe clutched in his hands. He ducked beside Ashe, apparently waiting for a chance to rush out and strike.

But how? Where was Dimitri? This was Dimitri’s plan wasn’t it? Why, then, was Dedue of all people helping them? 

Felix had no space to wonder about it, no space that was not wracked with fiery agony. 

They were almost there, close enough now that Felix could see Ashe starting to rise, starting to position as though he and Dedue and Cyril really were going to charge.

_No!_

Felix tightened his grip on his sword. Now it was him leading the stumbling foursome, pushing even faster than Ingrid. He heard someone gasp but he couldn’t slow. He had to reach Ashe before he leapt in, before he tried to fight--

Felix’s gaze flickered. Just who would Ashe be facing, anyway? 

Felix saw mages in black standing in a circle around the edges of a cloud of boiling mist. The fog got thicker and thicker as it moved toward a central point, toward an unassuming man in red mage robes. 

Andres held two stones up in his palms. His head was tilted back as he chanted in time with the ring of mages around him. Red billowed around him, not a cloud or a mist but a storm, a flurry that sloughed out of his hands and down his body so thickly that Felix couldn’t even see the man’s torso. 

It took a couple more steps before Felix could make out the stone slab behind Andres and the man who lay upon it. 

Felix’s uncle stared unseeing at the red sky, his neck neatly opened so crimson blood could pool around him and drip to the ground. The blood sizzled even as Felix watched, turning into that evil mist, that roiling foulness summoned by Andres’ hands. 

What did Andres do? What the _fuck_ was this?

Felix didn’t even realize they’d halted until an arrow flashed by, taking down one of the mages in black. Ashe’s shot jolted him back to his aching, searing body, but he still could make no sense of it. His uncle was dead, his blood clearly harvested for this cruel ritual that was burning every crest bearer alive, but how? 

“Go!” Ingrid shouted.

Felix didn’t have time to find out. Ingrid flung him forward.

Felix didn’t know if anyone followed. All he knew was that when he screamed at the mages before him, when he lifted his sword in his trembling hands, when he let the out-of-control crest spark and rage and snarl around him like the beast it was, he forgot the pain for just a moment.

The first mage fell. Felix was dimly aware of Ashe’s arrow eliminating another. Magic flew past Felix’s shoulder – Annette. Dedue and Cyril were closer to Ashe, all three crestless and therefore more easily able to carve a path. Even Ingrid and Sylvain were fighting, fighting against their own army with weapons presumably scavenged off the ground. 

“What are you doing?”

If it weren’t for those screamed words, Felix might have died then. As it was, the yelling gave him just enough time to spin and find Dimitri rushing at him, spear drawn. 

Felix just managed to parry it. 

“What are you doing?” Dimitri screamed again, swinging at Felix.

Felix absorbed the blow on his blade, though it nearly knocked him off his feet. How was Dimitri fighting like this with his crest going crazy inside him? 

“We’re ending this,” Felix said. 

He beat Areadbhar aside, stumbling closer, inside Dimitri’s range. There shouldn’t have been much Dimitri could do with Felix stepping past the tip of his spear, but he swung anyway, forcing Felix to block the wild attack. Dimitri didn’t even try to back off and create the necessary range; he just kept swiping at Felix, his eye glassy with rage and pain. 

Dimitri growled in frustration, throwing his spear aside. Before Felix realized what was happening, the king rushed headlong at him, tackling him to the ground. 

Felix’s sword was knocked from his hand as he landed in the dirt with Dimitri on top of him. Dimitri gripped the front of his tattered shirt, but Felix grabbed his wrists, finally fighting back. Dimitri was large and strong, and his crest made him even stronger – but Felix carried a major crest, a major crest shrieking out of control. Felix saw it burning Dimitri’s hands, making him flinch and pull back. 

Felix took his chance, flipping them over, getting Dimitri onto his back this time. Even being outweighed, Felix could keep Dimitri on the ground by leveraging all his weight and strength against the king. Dimitri tried to let go, tried to shove Felix off so the crest of Fraldarius would stop lashing out at him, but now it was Felix clinging to Dimitri, daring Dimitri to stay close.

A mad laugh trembled through the air. But it was not Dimitri. It was Felix, Felix laughing down at Dimitri as the man struggled to escape the crest he’d set loose himself. 

“This is what you wanted,” Felix said. “This is what you fucking wanted, boar.” 

Dimitri snarled but did not otherwise respond. With a surge, he managed to throw Felix off at last. 

Felix rolled, rushing to regain his feet, but he must have tumbled closer to Andres because the pain ratcheted up even as he tried to recover. He made it only as far as one knee before he had to pause, gasping against the fire burning his lungs. 

No, this wasn’t a matter of merely getting closer. Something was happening. He could feel it building within him, threatening to explode. 

Felix forgot about Dimitri, turning his attention back toward Andres.

There were significantly fewer mages around him now, but the ones who were left were chanting furiously, practically screaming, even as Cyril’s arrow found another. 

They weren’t fighting back. They weren’t even flinching. They were just dying and dying, their blood running out on the... 

No. 

Felix clambered back to his feet.

“No,” he screamed. “No.” He shrieked, desperate, even as Ingrid felled another, added more blood to the pool around Andres. 

“No!” 

But they could not hear him. Or would not. 

Andres looked directly at Felix, directly through that evil red mist, through that boiling, rage-colored cloud of madness coiling around him. 

And smiled.

It was a thin thing, even thinner than the smiles he’d offered Rodrigue in all the years he’d spent as his advisor, all the years he’d spent in the background, in the shadows. Felix saw now that he’d simply been biding his time, waiting for the moment he could destroy everything that had placed him there, a servant off to the side, forgotten, powerless. 

Andres smiled, looking straight at Felix as Ashe’s arrow pierced his throat. 

He fell, blood leaking from his neck into the defiled ground around him. 

Felix had been in pain before. Many times. 

But this. 

This went far beyond pain.

#

Ashe exhaled as he released the arrow. He didn’t need to watch to know it hit its mark. There was a feeling that came after so many years of handling a bow, a feeling in the tips of his fingers and quivering down his arms. The moment he let an arrow fly, he already knew if it flew true.

This one flew truer than any. It jutted through the sorcerer in red’s neck. Instantly, the man stumbled and fell, the red stones tumbling out of his hands as he struck the ground.

Ashe turned to Felix, smiling, victorious. It was over; it was finally, really over. They could leave. They could move on, really move on. No more being chased. No more running. No more getting passed from one captor to the next. The architect of the whole ordeal lay bleeding on the ground. 

Ashe searched for Felix, ready to run to him, to celebrate at last. He had to tuck his hair behind his ear as the wind rose. 

He found Felix on the ground, screaming soundlessly, scratching bloody gouges into his chest, his eyes impossibly wide. 

Ashe rushed to his side, but Felix didn’t even seem to realize it. He arched, feet kicking at the dirt as though he was trying to wriggle out of his own body. The nail marks down his chest where turning bloody as Felix continued scratching himself raw. 

Ashe grabbed his wrists, tried to pry his hands away from himself, but it was impossible to touch him now. His skin was so hot it burned at a touch. Cracks of lightning whipped out like the striking tentacles of some horrific beast exploding out of Felix. He didn’t seem to be breathing save in choking sips; his face went from red to ghastly white to red again even as Ashe watched. 

What had he done? Ashe looked around, searching for an answer. How had killing the sorcerer made this all go so horribly awry?

All he found was more damage. Dimitri snarled nearby, snapping at Dedue when the man tried to reach him. Annette was surrounded by a ring of fire and clawing at her own hair, her shriek high and terrible. Ingrid was curled in on herself; Sylvain was rolling on the ground holding his middle. None of them were coherent, none of them able to do more than scream as Ashe and Dedue and Cyril looked on in horror and helplessness. 

Ashe felt the wetness on his face as warm tracks. The crest destroying Felix before his eyes made Ashe’s tears hot, nearly sizzling, more steam than water. The rising wind whisked them away.

Goddess save him, he couldn’t even cry. 

He grabbed Felix’s wrists again, wincing against the lightning that seared his hands. He couldn’t watch Felix rip himself apart any longer. He had no idea what he could actually achieve, but anything had to be better than just watching this. 

But gods, it burned. Burned like the fire was burrowing through his hands and melting his very bones. Ashe’s voice joined the chorus of screams, but still he didn’t let go. Felix thrashed, fighting his hold, but he was too senseless to shake Ashe’s grip. 

Someone grabbed Ashe from behind, yanking him to his feet. Ashe’s whole body left the ground for a moment before Dedue set him back down. 

Immediately, he tried to rush back to Felix, but Cyril stood in his way, a hand on his chest. 

“Let me go,” Ashe said. “He’s killing himself.”

“He’ll kill you too if we let you close,” Cyril said. 

“I don’t care.” 

A large hand settled gently on his shoulder. “We do,” Dedue said. 

Ashe whirled to look up at Dedue. “Dimitri’s dying too. Please, Dedue, we have to do something.” 

Dedue had the decency to look ashamed, but then he turned his gaze away, studying the ground instead of Ashe. Still, his hand did not move from Ashe’s shoulder. And with Cyril in front of him, Ashe knew he wasn’t getting near Felix again easily. 

Ashe closed his eyes, tilting his head back, feeling the gathering wind cutting through him. His tears ran cool this time, no longer burning from the proximity of Felix’s crest. 

When he opened his eyes, he thought his vision must be blurry from crying. The sky was a swirl of colors and shapes, all of them coiling in on each other, blending together like paint being stirred by an enormous hand. 

Ashe blinked, clearing his vision, but the sight above him only solidified.

“Merciful Seiros,” he breathed. 

He heard gasps as Cyril and Dedue looked up as well. Together, the three of them watched the sky curl in on itself. Black and red and purple clouds twisted around and through each other like intertwining snakes. Occasionally, blue and gold flares of lightning (or magic? Ashe wondered) cut through the billows of dark cloud. 

And it wasn’t just happening directly over Garreg Mach. It stretched on and on and on, as far as Ashe could see, like the entire continent, the entire _world_, was gathering over this one spot. The wind picked up, ushering the clouds along, carrying a shrieking wail. It swirled like the clouds, as though it was trying to suck them all upward into that fathomless, black eye at the very center of the storm.

Ashe realized that eye was directly over the dead sorcerer. He looked to Dedue and Cyril. “There,” he shouted, though the gusting wind stole his voice away the moment he spoke. 

Luckily, they understood. All three ran for the place where Ashe had shot the sorcerer. They had to step over the bodies of other mages in black to get to the man in red with an arrow through his neck. 

“What are we looking for?” Cyril screamed over the storm. 

“I have no idea,” Ashe said. 

Still, they all set to work. Ashe searched the man himself, patting his chest to see if he was wearing a talisman or something. But he seemed like an ordinary man. Nothing around his neck, nothing on his wrists or fingers. Nothing even on his ankles. 

“Here,” Dedue shouted. 

Ashe and Cyril clambered to his side. He held a red stone. It glowed like the mist had, glowed like a crest stone. Ashe didn’t know much about the objects; the tenuous connection between crest stone and crest was all he had to go on at the moment.

“Do you think that did it?” Cyril called. “Did ... whatever the heck’s happening up there?”

Dedue shrugged. 

“Break it,” Ashe said.

They both looked to him.

“Smash it,” Ashe said. “Hurry. It’s certainly not going to make anything worse.”

Dedue nodded. He set the stone on the ground. It was hardly larger than his palm. Then he found a discarded lance and raised it high, bringing it down directly on the red stone. It took several beats, but eventually the rock shattered into smaller pieces. 

“Anything?” Cyril said.

Ashe looked up. The storm seemed utterly changed. “Maybe it’s still too big.”

They all picked up the largest chunks remaining, smashing them on anything they could find, crushing them under their shoes, doing anything they could think of until the stone was little more than red powder. 

Ashe stomped on the stone once more for good measure, but the motion set him off balance. He stumbled and Dedue caught him by the shoulder. The man said nothing, simply pointed up at the sky.

The storm had changed. It seemed to spin more slowly. The lightning streaked through the clouds less frequently. But it did not stop entirely. 

A memory struck Ashe like a slap. Him and Cyril, flying toward the sorcerer, seeing him from high above. The man had had both arms raised. Both arms.

“There’s another stone,” Ashe shouted.

Dedue and Cyril didn’t ask for an explanation. All three scrambled to find the second stone, rolling over bodies, checking under debris, prying dead hands open to check whether it was clutched in a rigid fist.

Ashe discovered it under one of the mages in black. He didn’t even pause before grabbing an ordinary rock and smashing it against the red stone, beating the thing into smaller chunks that Cyril and Dedue starting grinding down to flakes with any tools they could find. 

Ashe didn’t realize he was shouting at the rock until Cyril took him by the shoulder.

“It’s gone,” he said. “It’s gone. You can stop.” 

But Ashe was shaking all over, trembling with fear and exhaustion and worry. He clenched the rock in his fist and looked up at the sky.

It was a sheet, a still lake. The wind stopped with a gasp. An expanse of black and red and purple spread over the world like a hideous bruise. There was no eye any longer, just unbroken, mottled, low-hanging atmosphere. 

Ashe realized he didn’t hear screaming. He rose, spun toward the crest bearers prone on the ground. 

They lay eerily still, as though they were all sleeping. He didn’t see a single one of them breathe.

“No,” he whispered. “No. Please.”

He stumbled toward them, but after only a step they all jerked as one. Every crest bearer around him, every person in both ill-fated armies who had even a sliver of crest blood anywhere within them. Light exploded out of them, streaks of brilliant illumination in blue and gold and pink and red and green and purple. It shot toward the sky, pillars of light too brilliant to even look at.

Ashe put up his arms, shielding his eyes from the light. It seemed to grow and grow and grow, getting somehow brighter and brighter. Yet Ashe wasn’t burning. And no one was screaming. 

And then it was gone.

The world went dark, so dark Ashe had to blink. Everything went black until Ashe’s eyes could adjust to the sudden loss of all that resplendent, unnatural light. 

Quiet. A tenuous hush. No screams, no sounds of battle, no howling wind. Just the still, relaxed bodies of crest bearers quietly exhaling in the held breath left behind by the light. 

The world froze.

Then, it shattered.

The explosion threw Ashe to the ground, Cyril and Dedue falling beside him. They all looked up to where fissures and cracks streaked through that sheet of purple-black overhead. With each moment, another break appeared, a fracture cutting through the fabric of the world itself. 

“Gods, what is that?” Ashe said.

“We must go,” Dedue said. He was the first to make it back to his feet and he instantly ran for Dimitri. 

“Where? How?” Cyril said.

Ashe got up as well, running for Felix. “He’s right,” he called to Cyril. “I don’t know what’s happening, but we have to go before it does.” 

But even as Ashe got his hands under Felix’s arms – no longer burning, at last – he knew the effort was futile. The three of them could not help everyone. And who would they choose to leave? The likely choice was Ingrid and Sylvain, but even with all they’d been through, Ashe couldn’t stand the idea of leaving them behind. 

He saw the realization dawn across Dedue and Cyril’s faces as well. Dedue already had Dimitri cradled in his arms. 

“I must save him,” he said simply. 

“I know,” Ashe said. 

“You aren’t going to leave them? Even though they harmed you?”

Ashe shook his head. 

“Very well,” Dedue said. But he paused, lingered. “I am sorry ... I am sorry that things ... happened this way. You are a good man, Ashe Ubert, and I thought of you as my friend.”

“You too, Dedue,” Ashe said.

They watched each other a moment. Perhaps it was the same for Dedue then as it was for Ashe. Perhaps Dedue also smelled the monastery greenhouse all around them, tasted the spices they’d cooked with together as students. Perhaps he also remembered quiet afternoons reading in the gardens, sharing tea, not speaking, just enjoying the silence and the company. 

Either way, he turned then, walking away with Dimitri limp in his arms. 

“Ashe.” Cyril crouched on the other side of Felix. “What are we gonna do?”

“Go,” Ashe said. “Get out of here.”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” Cyril said. “Maybe we can get them all on the wyvern.”

“She can’t carry them all.”

“But...”

Ashe heard a creak overhead, like the entire world was a rickety chair groaning from strain. There were even more fissures in the sky now, cracks spreading like an unimaginably massive spiderweb. And something was coming through them.

Felix stirred. Ashe startled when he heard the man move, his attention immediately shifting downward. Felix groaned as his eyes opened, blinking as though waking from a long, deep sleep. The next instant, those amber eyes flew wide. 

Ashe took his hand, drawing his attention back down to the ground. “Felix.”

Felix looked at Ashe as though remembering him piece by piece. He started to sit up, aided by Ashe and Cyril. “What the fuck?” It came out hoarse, ravaged along the way by a throat shredded by screaming. 

“How do you feel? Are you OK? Are you...” Ashe didn’t even know what to ask at this point. What did it matter? The very sky was shattering over them. 

“I feel...” Felix raised a hand, examining it like it might belong to someone else. 

Beyond him, the others started to stir. Annette made it to hands and knees. Sylvain gasped and jerked upright. Ingrid crawled to sitting. 

“It’s different,” Felix said.

“What is?” 

Felix fixed Ashe with his amber eyes. “It’s gone.” 

“What?”

Felix touched his bloody chest, torn open by his own nails and still bleeding in sluggish trickles. Another creak sounded far, far overhead. Ashe dared not look. 

Felix ran his fingers gingerly down his chest. “It’s gone. It’s just ... gone.” 

He gasped, jerked away from Ashe, surged to his feet. Ashe leapt up beside him. Felix’s eyes were dashing wildly over the carnage – the fallen mages, the crushed powder of the red stones, the other crest bearers climbing weakly to their feet. 

Felix’s eyes settled on Annette. “It’s gone.”

Ashe saw her swallow before she nodded. “Yeah.” 

The sky cracked. Everyone jerked as though they were trying to duck down lower, but there was nowhere to hide. 

“What the fuck is that?” Felix said. 

“I don’t know,” Ashe said, “but we have to go. Can you move? Can all of you run?”

Even as Ashe asked, he realized it would be too late. 

It was a sound like a thousand rumbles of thunder all at once. It rolled, shaking the ground below, vibrating through Ashe’s entire body. The ground shook in the reverberation of the sky’s collapse. The world shattered. The black and purple above blasted away. Ashe put up his arms, expecting it to strike him somehow, but felt only gusts and howls of wind. 

When it stopped, the sky was clear and blue. And full of … of _something_.

“Fuck,” Felix breathed.

“W-what is...” Annette said.

“Run,” Sylvain said. He was tottering, almost drunk looking, eyes wide and white. He was already moving, grabbing Ingrid’s wrist to drag her along with him. When no one else responded, he shrieked, “Run, gods damn it!”

Cyril bolted for his wyvern, even as Annette ran to Ashe and Felix. 

Ashe couldn’t manage to look away quite yet though. There were ... _things_ in the sky. A lot of them. And though they were high up, so, so very high up, higher than any cloud had ever managed to touch, Ashe could tell how massive they were, each one like a mountaintop hurtling toward the ground. They shrieked. Gouts of fire and magic slashed across an empty blue sky. They beat massive wings as they descended toward the ground and the mortals beneath them.

“What are they?” Ashe said.

Annette spun Ashe and Felix around, taking one in each hand. She started running, pulling them with her, and Ashe could do nothing but stumble along. 

His legs were nearly numb. His hands hurt. The cuts on his face and shoulders and back burned. But most of all his mind reeled. 

“What are they?” he said again.

“Shut up and run,” Annette said. 

They did, leaping over bodies and tents, skirting war machines and battering rams. There were no sides anymore, no armies, no kings and territories and enemies. There were only terrified humans fleeing the impossible beasts hurtling out of the sky. 

The first dragon reached the ground. For now that Ashe saw it, really saw it, that’s all he could call the thing that smashed through the monastery wall. 

Even as Ashe watched, still running, the beast roared, spitting a gout of flame. It beat enormous wings, blowing people back. Then it lowered its horned, ridged head. When it came back up, Ashe saw, horribly, legs clamped between its jaws.

“Goddess save us,” he gasped. 

“Just run,” Annette said. “Just run. Just run.” 

But Ashe couldn’t tear his eyes away from the thing that had just landed on the monastery. As he got closer, he could see it had green, shimmering scales all over its body and leathery skin in the webbing of its wings. When it reared up to send a thundering cry booming out again, Ashe noticed, there on its belly, a glowing mark in the shape of a crest. 

_How?_ his mind screamed. _How?_

_It’s gone._

How?

They made it to the wall, somehow. Made it through the crush of people scrambling for safety. Made it back to the underground, back to the place where this had begun back when the world was whole, back when life made any kind of sense at all.

The chaos aboveground was echoed below. Even as the three of them found a safe corner, a pocket of space that Cyril and Ingrid and Sylvain eventually joined, the ceiling shuddered – just as it had that morning when Dimitri’s army arrived. But this time, it wasn’t trebuchets making the ground tremble. 

It was gods. 

They sat silently for a long time, or perhaps it was only a short while. Ashe couldn’t tell anymore. He cringed every time the ceiling shook. No one spoke; rather, they huddled closer and closer together as the world broke around them. 

Ashe turned his focus to Felix. “Are you OK?”

Felix laughed, short and bitter. The next moment, his wry smile sobered. He reached out a hand, stroking Ashe’s cheek even as the underground shook again. “You’re incredible,” he said.

Ashe blinked. Out of all the things he might have expected to hear in that moment, that was dead last. 

A hint of a smile played at the corner of Felix’s mouth. His calloused thumb kept rubbing Ashe’s skin. “You’re the only reason we’re all alive right now. I never deserved you. And before you disagree--” Ashe clamped his mouth shut “--just let me say my piece. The way I treated you … I won’t forgive myself for that. Even if you will.” Felix shook his head. 

“Hey, it mattered, back then,” Ashe said, covering Felix’s hand with his. “It mattered that you were going to become duke. It mattered that people cared, that people might have hurt me – or you – because of … because of this.”

“Sure,” Felix said, “even so.”

Ashe laughed, laughed in spite of the situation they found themselves in now. Or, perhaps, because of it. Felix was still apologizing for things that couldn’t possibly matter less at the moment. 

“Make it up to me then,” Ashe said.

Felix’s eyes turned sharp, keen. “How? Anything.”

“Let me forgive you,” Ashe said.

Felix looked down. His lips twisted as though a smile was trying to force its way through despite his best attempts. 

He finally met Ashe’s eyes. “Well played, Ubert.”

Ashe leaned forward, kissing that familiar smirk on Felix’s mouth, that smirk he’d come to love so much. “I know,” he said. 

They remained in their corner. Ashe did what he could for the crest bearers. They were all weak, often bleeding, exhausted from whatever had just happened to their bodies. Ashe could do little more than fetch them water and dab at their cuts with damp scraps of cloth torn from his own clothes. 

Eventually, Claude found them. He appeared in little better shape than the rest of them and had Lorenz under his arm. 

He looked right at Felix when he said, “They’re gone.”

Felix nodded. 

“All of them,” Claude said. “They’re gone.”

“They’re not gone,” Annette said. All eyes turned to her. “Our crests aren’t gone.” The ceiling shook again. “They’re just trying to kill us.”

“Well,” Claude said, “that seems like a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Knight and Squire 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899416/chapters/60250303)
> 
> What a journey. Thank you, friends, for coming this far with me. 
> 
> This story is my joy, my escape, my self-indulgent candy when I'm feeling down or need to remember why and how I got into this fandom in the first place. I love it dearly, even with all its silliness and imperfection. 
> 
> I am **so incredibly** grateful, flattered and, frankly, surprised that there are people still on this path with me. Your encouragement truly does mean the world to me. 
> 
> I know this ending might not be entirely satisfactory right now. I wrestled with it a lot, but this feels right to me so I'm going with it. There WILL BE a KAS 3. I'm not just going to leave it here. If you want to find out **when the third book starts** the best ways to do that are to bookmark this collection or follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover). I recommend Twitter in particular because I will probably post updates about how the outline is coming along. You'll get more info more quickly by going there. 
> 
> Also, to the person who left a comment on, like, chapter 3 saying "Hm, this crest thing. Sure seems to have something to do with the title." YOU WERE RIGHT AND I COULDN'T TELL YOU BUT I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW YOU CALLED IT SO LONG AGO, YOU BEAUTIFUL GENIUS. 
> 
> If this is where the journey ends for you, thank you for coming along this far. I truly appreciate it. 
> 
> If not, I'll see you soon.
> 
> \- Love from your friend Purple
> 
> \--
> 
> And, as always:
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!
> 
> Join the [Ashelix discord](https://discord.gg/cjFuCx) to hear my incoherent screeching about my beloved rarepair! (Ask me for link if it's expired!)


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